


Flint and Steel - Part Two: The Soldier

by Thlayli_ra



Series: Flint and Steel [2]
Category: NXT, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternative Universe - Medieval, Boys In Love, Bállins, F/M, M/M, Medieval Army, Multi, Past Abuse, Secrets, Seth’s Past, alternative history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thlayli_ra/pseuds/Thlayli_ra
Summary: Finn Balor is the newest recruit to the Red Army of the Cross yet, after only his first mission, he can feel the doubts creeping in about his new position in life. Things only escalate as his secret lover Seth Rollin’s past begins to reveal itself. Can their love survive the trials ahead?
Relationships: Finn Balor | Prince Devitt/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: Flint and Steel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615282
Comments: 33
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good news arrives/ A Hibernian receives his first mission
> 
> I’m going for it! I’m posting what I’ve done of F&S Part 2 and writing as much of it as I can before baby comes. Hopefully I still have a few weeks but we’ll just have to wait and see...  
> For those who are new to Flint and Steel, I would recommend reading Part 1 first or else you may get a little confused.  
> As always, feel free to leave any comments of kudos if you like what you’ve read and if you wish to keep up to date with F&S, click the subscribe button. Enjoy!

Morning was Finn Bálor’s favourite part of the day. Even in the dead of winter when the room was as dark as pitch and the air so cold it stung the skin, he still smiled broadly every time he opened his eyes. Perhaps it was the promise of a new day and the wonders it would bring, perhaps it was the peaceful silence before the dawn when the rest of the castle awoke?

Or, perhaps it was waking up in the arms of his lover, Seth Rollins.

Finn sighed contently as he gazed through bleary eyes at the object of his desire, those long, thick lashes of his pointing downwards as he slept peacefully, unaware that his beloved was awake and watching him with a tender smile. There was something so perfect about this moment each and every morning, listening to Seth’s soft breathing, watching the tanned skin of his shoulder rise and fall with the rhythm, that it made Finn ache when he had to leave.

But for now, he had a few more minutes to admire the man he loved.

Pulling his hands free from the blanket, he began to stroke his fingers through Seth’s long hair, the bright golden locks he sported on the right side of his scalp glimmering through the darkness. Soft though the touch might be, it stirred the younger man who let out a noise that sounded to Finn’s ears like a cat’s purr.

‘You like that, love?’ Finn asked with a chuckle. Seth only nodded in reply as he snuggled in closer to Finn’s pale chest. ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ he warned the young officer, ‘I’ll have to be off soon.’

‘No,’ Seth mewled out pathetically, wrapping his arms around Finn’s waist as if it would somehow keep him from leaving. ‘Stay. Stay here with me.’

‘You know I can’t,’ Finn let out a small laugh but his insides were tearing apart. It was the problem with mornings; the incredible high was always cruelly dashed within minutes. ‘If we’re caught like this, they’ll hang us both. I have to get back down to the barracks before dawn.’

‘Stupid Cross and their stupid rules,’ Seth grumbled, holding even tighter onto his lover. ‘Damn them all to Hell.’

‘And they’ll definitely hang us for using such blasphemies,’ Finn joked as he slid his hand all the way down to the ends of Seth’s locks. He grinned as the soft strands slipped through his fingers like silk. ‘Seth, can you promise me something?’

‘Your every wish is my command,’ Seth replied, his face buried in between Finn’s well-defined pectorals. His reply made Finn laugh; even though the younger man was technically his superior, he was always putty in Finn’s hands, especially in the morning when he was still sleepy.

‘Never cut your hair.’ The strange request brought the New-Worlder out from his hiding place and he pulled back slightly to look into Finn’s eyes. Even in the darkest hour before the dawn, they sparkled like gems.

‘Ok,’ Seth agreed, ‘but only on the condition that you never grow yours out.’

‘You like it like this?’ Finn laughed, rubbing his weathered palm over the short, soft spikes on his head, shorn at the back and temples. It had not been his decision to style his hair this way. When he and Seth had first met, it was a tangled mess, wind-ruffled and unkempt. It had been his former master, Corbin, who had cut it this way and Finn had never had the gall to change it. The man who had kidnapped him and held him prisoner for ten months still loomed over him in some ways, even though he had won his freedom nearly three months ago.

‘Can I… confess something?’ Seth asked and with a small hum, Finn urged him on. ‘Other than the first time I ever saw you spar back on the farm, the time I desired you most was…’ Seth lowered his head, as if ashamed to admit the next part. It took some more urging from Finn to push the younger man to finish his sentence, ‘… it was the first time you served us at Corbin’s quarters. Seeing you with your short hair and that godly physique of yours in your subligaculum,’ Seth’s eyes fluttered as the memory of the scene aroused him like a potent aphrodisiac. ‘You looked so exquisite, I could have grabbed you and ravaged you there and then.’

He was scared for a moment that Finn would be sickened by his confession; Finn had been, after all, a prisoner of Corbin’s at the time, forced to spend each day in a state of undress and perform degrading acts for the pleasure of his master. But Finn had a way of always seeing the best in the young officer and instantly made him feel at ease with another of his easy chuckles.

‘If only it had been your house’s colours I wore around my waist that day and not his,’ he teased, placing a warm kiss on the crown of Seth’s head, ‘you would have been well within your right to ravage me.’

It was Seth’s turn to laugh, his more of a loud snort. ‘Pfft, I have no house colours to speak of,’ he scoffed.

‘House Rollins does not have a shield or emblem?’ Finn asked with intrigue.

‘Oh, House Rollins does,’ he rebuffed, turning around to lie on his back while Finn propped himself on one elbow to listen intently to his lover. ‘A crest of a shattered shield engulfed in flame, their colours are black and gold… but I am no Rollins.’ Before Finn could enquire, Seth went on. ‘If a young cadet shows promise, but is a bastard like me, with no familial ties, he is adopted by a noble family and taken in as a squire. I may bear their name but little else.’

‘I see,’ Finn nodded his head, ‘is that why you coloured your hair this way? To match the Rollins colours?’ He went to smooth down the long, golden strands again but Seth turned his face away as if hiding the blonde streak from his lover.

‘Oh, that,’ his face scrunched up momentarily. ‘No, that was… something else.’

‘Tell me,’ Finn nudged the New-Worlder. ‘You know all about my past but I know very little of yours. I want to learn everything there is about you.’

‘There’s… not much to tell,’ Seth’s large doe eyes looked down as he paused a long while. Eventually he glanced up to see Finn watching him expectantly and he let out a weary sigh. He could never refuse the Hibernian with topaz blue eyes. ‘An alchemist did it for me,’ he explained, absentmindedly covering the side of his head with his palm. ‘I wanted the whole of my head done but could only afford this much. It was…’ he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and raked it with his teeth, ‘it was to impress someone I admired at the time.’

‘Ah,’ Finn lowered his head, finally understanding why Seth had not been willing to speak of it. ‘I’m sorry if I intruded.’

‘No, no, it’s alright,’ Seth smiled weakly at his lover. ‘You’re right, I haven’t told you much about my past and you deserve to know. It’s just that… a lot of it is very painful for me.’

‘Then I will not force the subject,’ Finn said, planting a firm kiss on Seth’s lips. ‘Only tell me if and when you are good and ready.’ Seth was always thankful for Finn’s patience and kindness; he always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better. Except when he said, ‘now I really must get back to the barracks before everyone wakes up and realises I’m not there.’

Seth whined again, pouting out his bottom lip as Finn wriggled free from his grasp. He lay on his side, watching as his lover picked his tunic up from the floor, appreciating his muscular back and firm rump. ‘You’ll come again tonight?’ he asked, grossly disappointed as Finn pulled his tunic over his top half.

‘Course I will,’ Finn smiled boyishly as he retrieved his subligaculum and began wrapping it around his waist and between his legs. It had been one of the Hibernian soldier’s quirks since he’d passed his exam – wearing the ancient form of athletic support instead of breeches. At first, his fellow soldiers had thrown him looks of bewilderment but as time passed and they swiftly learnt of Finn’s prowess as a fighter, they all forgave his exposed thighs and acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘Hell’s teeth, where are my boots?’ the Hibernian swore, lifting up Seth’s discarded clothes and coming up empty.

Seth giggled at the curse. ‘That just sounds so wrong coming from you,’ he grinned. ‘That beautiful lilt of yours should only be used to say pretty things.’

‘Like sweet nothings in your ear?’ Finn put on his most impish smile, finally finding his boots and shoving them under his arm. ‘Didn’t anybody warn you about falling for the charms of a Hibernian lad?’

‘They did,’ Seth shrugged, playfully. ‘They also warned me about fairy folk too.’

‘Already told ye,’ Finn waggled a finger as he drifted on his silent feet across to the door, ‘I’m no fairy.’

‘I’ll find out what you are one of these day,’ Seth liked getting the last word in between them. ‘Don’t let anyone see you.’

‘I’ll be akin to a ghost,’ Finn reassured him as he opened the door and checked the corridor. Finding the stairwell empty, he turned back and blew a kiss across to his lover, still sprawled naked under the sheets. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

The mess hall was alive with noise and revelry. The morning’s drills in the bitter cold had been brutal so to be basking in the warmth of the fire, filling their bellies with ale and warm stew brought a boisterousness to every soldier in the castle. Finn sat in his usual spot in the corner, surrounded by his friends, listening in as they debated (once again) over the necessity of drills like the ones they had done that morning. As per usual, childhood friends Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens were on opposite sides of the argument.

‘It’s an outdated practice,’ Owens put his point forward in his low, monotone voice, ‘adopted from the Ancient Lands, as the Cross are want to do – they love their Ancient practices. But, there are new, more efficient ways to improve an army’s strength and stamina than doing the same archaic exercises they have us doing over and over again.’

‘Sometimes, the old ways are the best way,’ Sami rebuffed, his voice as bright as the flame-orange hair lining his head and jaw. ‘It’s already proven they work – just look at the Ancient Armies of Italia. Using cruder methods than us, they managed to conquer the entire Ancient world.’

‘Or the famed Doric soldiers from Sparta,’ Finn’s closest confidante, Ricochet cut in, a talented ex-mercenary turned soldier. ‘So great was their skill in combat that they beat back an entire army from across the sea with only three hundred men.’

‘I’m not disputing their claims,’ Owens returned, waving his hand, ‘but I will point out that these methods are the time were revolutionary, unheard of. If we are to evolve to be as great as the Ancient Army of Italia and conquer the world as we know it today, we need to find our own innovations to do so.’

‘Plus,’ said the final of their party, an Anglian called Neville with long, dark hair and an almost unfathomable accent, ‘those drills are just ‘orrible, like.’

Nobody could argue that point. Finn knew the next step and was not surprised when all four pairs of eyes turned to him. As member number five of the party, it was often left to him to decide the outcome when there was an even split. And, as always, he replied the exact same way.

‘You all make interesting points,’ he said as he nonchalantly nibbled on his bread husk, chewing slowly to keep his audience in suspense. ‘I will have to mull it over before I decide.’

His friends all threw their head back in exasperation, before diving back into the fray. Owens was about to make another point when he was approached by a young boy bearing a rolled up piece of parchment. Thanking the boy with a coin, he broke the seal on the parchment and unfurled it, reading the neat letters on the paper all while ignoring the silent looks he was getting from his cohorts. Nodding his head as he finished the message, he closed it back up and placed it on the table, taking a hearty swig to finish off his ale. Around him, his intrigued audience watched and waited, even Finn was staring at him expectantly.

Washing down the last of his cup, Owens turned and waved his hand to capture the attention of a beautiful young maid called Caoimhe. Approaching the table, she purposefully bumped her elbow into the back of Neville’s head. His friends all looked away to hide their expressions of amusement. Recently, Neville had done something to offend the young woman he was seeing romantically but he would not confess to his crimes, leaving them all to speculate as to its nature.

‘Caoimhe,’ Owens said to her, passing over a number of coins, ‘fill my friends’ cups with your finest ale, please.’

‘Right away, m’lord,’ she replied in her lilting Hibernian accent and, with one last shove into the back of Neville’s head, she floated away towards the cellars, returning with an urn filled with the richest, sweetest ale that Owens’ coin could afford, including, at the New-Franks’ behest, one for herself.

‘So, are you going to keep us dangling any longer?’ Ricochet asked his friend, as they all raised their cups in a toast. ‘What are we celebrating?’

It was one of those incredibly rare moments when Owens’ normally sullen face cracked into a smile. ‘I have just received word that I am a father,’ he beamed proudly and was met with delight from his friends. They all cheered for the news and wetted the new baby’s head with a chug from their cups.

‘Wonderful news, friend,’ Sami grinned, placing an arm around Owens’ shoulder. ‘A boy or a girl.’

‘A healthy baby boy,’ Owens replied, the smile never leaving his face. ‘Karina has named him Owen.’

‘Owen Owens?’ Neville interjected with a cocked eyebrow.

‘It strengthens the family name,’ Owens replied, not biting at the Anglian’s comment. Unlike a certain maid who smacked the dark haired man around the back of the head with her palm this time.

‘Something you just don’t understand,’ she scolded and he scowled at her, rubbing the back of his head.

‘I had no idea you were married,’ Finn noted.

‘My wife is back in the New-Francia,’ Owens explained to him. ‘Living with her parents while I am away. I vowed before I left for the New Cross Territories that I would put a child in her. However,’ he picked up the parchment again and scanned the writing, ‘taking into consideration just how long it takes for messages to cross the Great Ocean, I would say that my son is nearly three months old by now.’ The merriment left his face in an instant at the realisation. ‘By the time, I see them both again, he will be two in years.’

It was left unsaid just how much of his son’s early life, Owens would miss, being stuck overseas serving the Red Army. The joyousness of the occasion took a morose turn. It was Ricochet who took the helm to steer the ship back into friendlier waters.

‘And then you will put another baby in your wife!’

The group cheered loudly at the proposal, all of them shouting ‘Hear Hear!’ as they toasted the proud new father.

‘Ah, excellent news,’ Seth smiled as Finn relayed Owens’ earlier message to him. The pair had met by chance in the corridors of the castle, Seth accompanied by his loyal aide, Apollo who was also pleased with the news.

‘Please pass on our congratulations to him,’ the bald-headed man said.

‘Will do,’ Finn saluted politely, a clang sounding from the basic armour he sported. After three months of training with his fellow rookies, Finn had finally mastered the use of breastplate, gauntlets and greaves. Paired with his rich red tunic (instead of the brown training one he’d had before) and his bare thighs, he was a sight to behold. Seth hardly knew how he kept his senses together when the young Hibernian soldier was nearby. All he wanted to do in that moment was pull him into an empty room and strip every piece of that armour off his lover while he devoured his mouth.

‘So where are you pair off to?’ Finn’s voice cut through his fantasies, the older man throwing Seth a knowing look. He always knew when the New-Worlder’s mind was wandering and found a way to snap him back to reality before he embarrassed himself.

‘Field Marshal Lashley has called all the officers and aides into a meeting,’ Seth explained, his tone taking on a serious note. ‘From the sounds of it, I’m guessing he has a mission for us.’

Seth could almost see Finn’s ears pricking at the word ‘mission’, his attention fully captured. Apollo, by his side, had also seen the change in the older man’s demeanour.

‘This would be your first mission, correct?’ he asked the rookie soldier with a grin.

‘Yes, sir,’ Finn replied. Seth knew that being cooped up in the castle grounds, running the same training practices over and over again had began to grate on the Hibernian. He’d once confessed to him on a lonely mountaintop that he longed to travel more, see the world and all its sights and that wanderlust had never fully left him. Even if the mission would only be to another part of his home country, Finn would have been thrilled to finally leave the four huge stone battlements of the Red Army’s base in the capital city of Dubhlinn.

‘Then we’ll finally get to see your skills put to the test in the field,’ Apollo noted eagerly, before adding, ‘if it comes to that.’

‘We shall see,’ Finn replied, mysteriously. ‘I’d best not keep you much longer. Good day, sirs.’

‘Good day, Infantryman Bálor,’ Seth returned Finn’s salute and the lovers departed, Seth unable to keep the smile from his face. Apollo walked at his shoulder, sauntering with that same, almost smug air he sported whenever he witnessed the young officer and Hibernian soldier together. Seth had his inkling that Apollo understood their circumstances more than he had any right to, but he never once alluded to it, much to Seth’s relief. Well, other than his knowing gait, of course.

The pair entered the plush chambers of the council room, where the officers would often congregate for their meetings. They found that they were not the first to arrive nor were they the last. At the head of the room, sat behind a desk was their commanding officer, Field Marshal Roberto Lashley, an impressive build of a man with dark skin and cleanly shaved head. He had taken over the position from his predecessor, Baron Thomas Corbin, after his promotion to High Constable and subsequent move to Londinium, the capital of both Anglia and the New Cross Territories as a whole. The switch in command had been rather effortless so far; both men shared the same taciturn disposition and the permanent frown carved into their features. It had been like swapping a black shroud for a black veil. The test for the new field commander would come when he lead his first battle. Corbin had been ruthless on the battlefield, renown for his skill in tactics and combat. It would be a tough act for Lashley to follow.

Behind him, skulking in the corner was Lashley’s aide, a short, slim man called Lionel Rush. It was a mystery to each and every inhabitant of the camp how Rush still held his position. The relationship between the two men had deteriorated long ago (Finn had even exploited the discord between the pair as he faced them both during his final exam) to the point that they avoided each other whenever they could yet Rush had still not been ousted as aide to the superior officer. Some believed Lashley had not found a suitable alternative; most speculated he could just not be bothered.

Speaking of quarrelling aids, in the chairs by the window sat Officer Drew McIntyre and his aide, Dolph Ziggler. At least at one time, Lashley and Rush had gotten along well but McIntyre and Ziggler had never seen eye-to-eye. Even now, the towering raven-haired Caledonian was purposely sat a chair away from his aide, hoping for someone else to sit between them.

That man, however, would be anyone but Seth Rollins.

As the officer with the golden streak entered the room, McIntyre glared at him with a look that could kill. Things had been frosty between the two ever since Finn had entered the picture. McIntyre, fancying himself a catch for both sexes, had laid claim to Finn first but his charms had fallen flat with the Hibernian. Finn had even tricked the huge Caledonian when he had tried to seduce him in the stables, fooling the raven haired man into closing his eyes to believe Finn was pleasing him when it had in fact been the velvety mouth of the nearest horse. After much harassment, Seth had finally got Finn to confess to his crimes that evening in the stables – Seth had been drinking ale at the time and had laughed so much, half the cup had squirted up his nose.

Even though they had kept their relationship a closely guarded secret, McIntyre had always believed that Seth had won the affections of Finn, being jealous even of their time together as friends. The man’s unchecked ego – as mammoth as the Caledonian himself – had been stung by the officer and he wasn’t willing to forgive him. Finn wasn’t let off lightly either; even though the Hibernian was now a fully fledged soldier of the Red Cross, McIntyre refused to treat him as such, still referring to him as ‘boy’ despite Finn being several years his senior.

Apollo took note of the tension in the room and went to sit between McIntyre and Ziggler, leaving Seth to take up a chair safe at the opposite side of the meeting room. It was times like this, surrounded by master and aide who despised one another, that Seth felt infinitely grateful to have a man like Apollo by his side. Trusted, loyal and true. He was a dear friend indeed.

The last to enter the meeting was the newest addition to the Hibernian branch of the Red Army, a Frisian by the name of Aleister Black. Recently promoted to the position of Junior Officer and deployed to Hibernian from Londinium, his moody disposition rivalled that of even Lashley’s. However, as Seth had come to realise one night over a shared cask of ale, the man was far friendlier beneath the morose exterior and the pair had come to a mutual liking of one another.

Black had yet to appoint an aide for himself and the gossip wheel in the castle was constantly turning out possible names. Ricochet’s came up often.

‘We all here?’ Lashley muttered, glancing up from his papers. He had never been one for formalities. ‘Let’s keep this brief – we are to move out day after next. There’s talk of a growing rebel faction north of here and we have been ordered to put a stop to it. Capture or kill all involved. We shall take a troop of a hundred and twenty, the rest shall stay to guard the castle under the supervision of the wardens, Ciampa and Gargano.’ He put the parchment relaying their orders from their superiors in Londinium down and turned to his officers, arms resting on his desk with his fingers knitted together. ‘Now, it goes without saying that, this being our first mission under new command that we wish to make a good impression to our Emperor, King and Council. I trust that you will all work together to make this a success?’

‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply; it was not the resounding cry of unity that Seth supposed Lashley had been aiming for. He was not the type of character to rouse his men with inspiration, nor did he have Corbin’s capacity to instil fear in them. Time would tell if Lashley found the niche he needed to pull his troops together.

‘Good,’ he turned back to his papers. ‘Ready your men for departure. Dismissed.’

‘How far north?’ Finn asked as he pulled his tunic over his head.

Seth sat on his bunk, enjoying the display of flesh on show. Finn’s beautifully sculpted torso never failed to steal his breath away. He still couldn’t believe that this mystical being had given his heart over to him.

‘Fifty miles or so,’ he replied, feeling the blush rise up his cheek. ‘Not far at all, really. Scary when you think about it.’

‘Scary?’ Finn asked, pausing in his movements, his fingers hovering over the silk of his subligaculum. Seth would have moaned at the poorly timed intermission but the look on Finn’s face was serious, telling him to shift his focus to his lover’s concerns, not his body.

‘I mean, considering how close they are to Dubhlinn,’ he explained. ‘Clearly, they were planning to eventually attack the capital once they had enough numbers.’

‘The castle, you mean,’ Finn narrowed his eyes.

‘Well, of course,’ Seth’s eyebrows knotted together, looking up at the grim expression on his lover’s handsome face. ‘Finn, are you alright?’

Finn shook his head and his features relaxed again. ‘Yes, yes, I am fine,’ he said and put on that small, teasing smile of his. ‘Truthfully, I am just glad for a change of scene.’

‘You have been cooped up for several months now,’ Seth nodded his head with agreement. ‘Even I’ve been out with the troops to patrol neighbouring towns to collect taxes now and again.’

‘I missed you those day,’ Finn bowed his head, his bottom lip pouting slightly to make himself look even more pathetic. Seth groaned, feeling his erection growing impatient. Finn had still not made a move to undo his subligaculum, his fingers now resting on the band, his thumbs looped inside the silk where his muscles began to descend into the shape of a ‘V’.

‘I miss you now,’ Seth whined, unable to stand it any longer. ‘Come here.’ He reached out and grabbed Finn by the thighs in order to pull him close. Above him, he heard the sweet music of Finn’s laugh, growing louder by the second as Seth pawed at his subligaculum, not even bothering to remove it but simply loosen it and pull it down, the silk bunching at Finn’s knees.

‘How are you going to cope on this mission?’ Finn chuckled as Seth peppered kisses over the flat area of his pelvis, feeling the younger man’s fingers digging into the back of his thighs to keep him in position. ‘I won’t be able to sneak into your tent like I can here.’

‘We shall go off into the woods together,’ Seth replied before trailing his tongue down the dent from Finn’s naval to his pubic bone. Finn was meticulous with his personal hygiene (something, Seth believed, was ingrained in him from his time in captivity) and not a single hair marred his lover’s skin, not even directly around his manhood. From above him, he heard the Hibernian growl low in his throat as Seth’s mouth neared his most delicate flesh. ‘We shall make love under the stars.’

‘In the middle of Winter?’ Finn scoffed before his breath failed him. ‘On the frost-bitten ground? We’d die of exposure within minutes.’

Seth removed his mouth from Finn’s skin and glared up at the older man. ‘Can you just stop being rational for once in your life and try being a little romantic?’ He noted how Finn’s shoulders shook, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. The smile had grown on his face, his cheeks breaking out into those adorable dimples that made him look younger than his thirty-two years.

‘Ok, ok,’ he relented, ‘so long as you keep doing what you’re doing, I’ll be the living embodiment of Aengus himself.’

‘Mmm, I like that idea,’ Seth thrummed in his throat, as his mouth moved back towards Finn’s lower half. In one smooth action, he took the entirety of the Hibernian’s cockhead in his mouth. He had to grip Finn leg’s tighter to stop them from buckling, the gasp above his head nearly pushing his own erection over the edge.

Finn could pretend to be the Hibernian deity, Aengus all he liked; Seth already knew he was making love to a god.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doubts creep in as a troop heads out on their mission

Finn paced through the corridors of the castle, the darkness of the winter evening fought off by the warm, red glow of torches lining the walls. As he marched along, his basic armour clanging in rhythm with his steady pace, he greeted those he knew, both soldier and servant alike. He had been shy when he had first arrived at the castle, riding atop Seth’s speckled mare, shivering under a blanket as he pressed pitifully against Seth’s warm chest. As soon as he’d stepped off the horse, away from the security of the younger man and into the strange surroundings, his self-consciousness had overpowered him. He had pulled his blanket tighter to hide his nakedness, felt the shame as people eyed his bare feet and the collar locked tight around his neck. It was as if everyone who saw him, knew what he was and were disgusted by him. Or worse, pitied him.

It was different now though. During his training, he had been welcomed into a tight-knit group of friends who buoyed his confidence and helped him grow more comfortable in his skin. Now, ever since dawning the crimson tunic of the Red Army, he had earned the respect of his fellow soldiers and proven a popular face among the servants, most of whom were Hibernian, like himself. He was the first of his countrymen to qualify as a soldier for the Cross and was revered by his peers, the older men would clap him on the back proudly, the younger men asked for advice on how they too could become soldiers of the Red Army. As for the female servants… well, Finn had had to politely decline many a tempting offer.

After all, he was already spoken for.

The closer Finn got to his destination, the darker the corridors became as the torches became sparse then disappeared altogether, the forgotten passageways falling into disrepair. Holes appeared in the walls and ceilings where the stonework had started to crumble away and he shivered at the bite of the icy wind that crept in through the openings.

He finally arrived at the spiralling set of stairs and ascended them until he reached a door at the top. He nodded at Kevin Owens who was standing guard at the door as usual, the New-Frank pressing a single finger to his lips to warn the Hibernian to be quiet. Finn nodded his head in acknowledgement whilst rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Finn had a famously silent tread and could slip into a room as noiselessly as an assassin.

He did so at that moment, opening the door enough to sneak inside before carefully pressing it shut. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Sami bent over, his forehead pressed against his multi-coloured rug, deep in prayer. Finn made no move to disturb him and instead headed for a corner near the door, smiling warmly as he spied a cushion already waiting for him there. Sami had an uncanny way of knowing when something was bothering the Hibernian.

Settling himself down, Finn leaned back against the wooden panels of the wall and closed his eyes, his ears soothed by the lulling chants of Sami’s prayer. The redhead was a devout follower of his faith, and though he could not pray as often as his religion demanded, the few times he could manage, he adhered to without excuse. This practice was, like so much else, strictly forbidden by The Cross and if Sami were to be found out, he would be sentenced to death without the benefit of a trial. Hence why he had only trusted two men with his secret; one he had known his whole life, the other toed the same line between secrecy and death.

The latter had almost zoned out completely when Sami had finished his evening prayer and turned around to address him. Finn’s eyelids softly fluttered open as he spied the New-Frank looking at him expectantly with his head cocked curiously to the side.

‘You knew I would come tonight,’ Finn stated with a small laugh.

‘You’ve been distracted all day,’ Sami replied with a shrug. ‘What’s bothering you? Is it Seth?’

‘No, no,’ Finn shook his head. ‘Seth and I are good… great, actually! Don’t get me wrong, I hate having to sneak around all the time but… no, we’re good.’

‘Then… what is it?’ Sami queried until the answer hit him and he nodded his head like some wise, old sage. ‘Ahhh, it’s the mission isn’t it?’

Finn raked his teeth over his lower lip. He’d hit the nail on the head. ‘I’m… conflicted about it,’ he confessed, lowering his head to watch his fingers twist in his lap. Sami didn’t probe further but sat quietly, allowing the Hibernian to share his doubts in his own time. ‘Sami… why did you join the Red Army?’

The redhead shrugged his shoulders sadly. ‘To escape poverty,’ he replied. ‘Kevin and I come from the same poor village back home. When we became men we had two options available to us; work in the fields like our fathers had and risk starvation or join the army. We were deployed far from home but we earn enough coin to provide well for our families.’ He adjusted himself on his rug, pulling his legs underneath him in a basket. ‘Nothing glamorous, I’m afraid.’

‘But a noble cause,’ Finn countered. ‘Are you married?’

‘Me? No,’ Sami said with a quick shake of his head. ‘Haven’t met the right person yet. Anyway, that’s getting off topic.’

Sami went back to studying the Hibernian fidgeting in the corner, his head tilted with curiousity. Finn felt his gaze on him; he was waiting for him to continue.

Finn was not the kind of man to bear his heart on his sleeve. Sure, he was hardly a closed book but he kept a lot of his concerns to himself. He could blame some part of his habit to the moment he was stolen away from his home near Bray, when his trust was shattered by the men who he had called allies, even friends. Each one had turned their back on him that day and allowed him to be taken away in chains to a cruel fate unknown. But he knew deep down that he had always been this way. His mother had cried a lot when he was a young child, before she met his stepfather, and every time the infant Finn had found her sobbing, he would hold her tight, be strong for her. He’d grown so used to being the strong one that he’d never fully grasped how to be the one needing comfort. Not that he cried often; the words his stepfather told him the night his mother died haunted him still.

‘…son, you may grieve for her tonight but come tomorrow you will be a new man and the world is cruel. You must never show it your weakness again’.

Other than when his stepfather was murdered before his very eyes and Finn was claimed as bounty, the young Hibernian had never disobeyed.

Finn’s mind hazed back to the present and he found Sami still eyeing him up. He reminded himself that this was a safe space, that Sami was a trusted confidante (and most likely already knew what he was thinking anyway) and he could say anything with the strongest of trust.

‘It seems stupid of me now,’ he began, separating his fingers so that they would stop kneading nervously in his lap,’ but this whole time, training for the exam, sparring with all of you and becoming a rookie, I never really thought much about the end game. What I was doing all that work for.’

‘How could you?’ Sami countered, confirming to Finn that he did indeed already know what was distressing the young Hibernian. ‘You were a prisoner and passing the exam meant gaining your freedom. That kind of prize would blinker anyone.’

Finn nodded sullenly. His fingers were aching to fidget again so he balled them into fists and rested them on his knees. ‘I always assumed my first mission would be something minor such as a tax run or patrol. It wasn’t until Seth told me the order – capture or kill – that it hit me.’ Finn looked up, his radiant blue eyes marred by worry lines. ‘Sami… I’ve never killed before. At least nothing without four legs or wings. How… how can I look a man in the eye and rip his life away from him?’

Sami lowered his head, empathising with the young soldier’s dilemma. Finn watched as the redhead’s lips pursed, his fingertips tapping against each other in thought. ‘The killing part… will come easier than you think,’ he sighed with a weariness that the normally energetic New-Frank rarely possessed. It made Finn pay closer attention. ‘When you face a man one-on-one, a weapon in hand and you have to choose in that split second between killing or being killed, your natural instinct will decide for you before you realise.’

Absentmindedly, the redhead reached behind him until his palm rested on his worn Koran, the book of his faith. ‘It’s after the fact, once the adrenaline has passed, that is difficult. You will remember their faces, you will hear the sound they make before death takes them. The true test lies in how you come to terms with that.’

Finn lowered his eyes to the floor, feeling his insides sink with his gaze. Sami’s words brought him no comfort but then, they weren’t meant to. ‘How do you cope with the guilt?’ he asked, seeing Sami’s hand stroking the cover of his Koran out the corner of his eye.

‘I pray,’ Sami replied, his voice ever so slightly warmer. ‘I pray for their souls and their families. Kevin out there, he prefers to forget. After a battle, you normally find him at the bottom of a cask of ale, drinking until he passes out. Drowning out the memory, he calls it. Then the next day, once his hangover passes, he moves on. I prefer to remember them.’

Finn found himself wondering how he would cope when the time came; either option sounded painful to him. ‘I suppose,’ Sami’s voice coaxed him to raise his head again, ‘it all comes down to one important factor.’ Sami turned to him, fixing him with a warm smile that almost seemed to glow in the dull, somber room. ‘You have to ask yourself – what are you fighting for?’

The following day, the troop headed out from Dubhlinn Castle and made their way north. All morning, Finn had felt the flutters in his stomach as he put on his basic armour, shouldered his pack and armed himself with shield and spear for the long march ahead, but the moment the call was given and they flowed out through the castle gates in three neat lines, side-by-side, he felt his heart leap with joy.

He was out of those four walls.

He was free.

Even the bite of the frosty winter wind could do little to dampen his spirits in that moment. It gusted through him, the long-sleeved vest beneath his tunic doing little to block it out but he faced it down with a smile, daring it to do its worse. From the look of the grey cloud cover ahead, he began to fret that the wind had heeded his challenge.

Finn marched with his fellow spearmen, his long, sharpened spear resting on his shoulder while at his belt, his sword and dagger waited in their sheaths should they be needed. He was more proficient with the weapons now after his training (he was also skilled with bow and arrow) but nothing came close to rivalling his ability with a spear. It felt as natural in his hand as his staff had been back home when his stepfather had sparred with him every day, giving his adopted son the tools he needed to survive the tough times ahead. He could never thank the gnarled ex-soldier enough and felt as if he still guided him from the afterlife just like his mother did. He smiled to think of them reunited again, although it was tinged with a nip of envy that he couldn’t be there beside them.

‘What you smiling about?’ the voice of Ricochet at his side brought him back to his senses.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Finn replied, focusing back on the march as the troop filtered out of the city limits and away into the countryside.

‘Enjoying the change of scene?’ Ricochet grinned knowingly at the Hibernian. Other than Seth, Finn spent the majority of his time with the mercenary-turned-soldier and they knew each other like the back of their own hands.

‘The birds sing differently out here,’ Finn returned, the smile creeping further up his cheek. ‘You hear them?’

‘I hear something twittering away beside me,’ Ricochet teased, making Finn laugh. ‘You’re such a country boy! And Dubhlinn isn’t even a city, more a big town. Imagine if you ever had to go to Londinium; that place would eat you alive.’

‘I always wanted to travel,’ Finn replied with a hint of whimsy in his voice. ‘Never set foot away from Hibernian shores.’

‘There’s a whole, huge, wonderful world out there to explore,’ Ricochet acknowledged with a nostalgic smile, ‘but for now, let’s keep our focus on the road ahead.’

Finn nodded and trained his eyes on the line. He was spending too much time with Seth; now even he was drifting off into daydreams half the time. Thinking about his lover, his eyes began to search the rows and rows of crimson-clad soldiers, looking past steel helms and wooden shafts draping long, silk banners bearing the deep red of the army and the tilted symbol of The Cross, looking for Seth’s speckled grey mare.

‘Rico,’ Finn mused aloud, his eyes still scanning the crowd, ‘what do you fight for?’

The question caught the New-Worlder off-guard. He shot a glance at Finn before looking away again, his eyes narrowed, deep in thought. ‘Never really thought about that before,’ he confessed, rubbing his chin pensively as Finn continued his search. At last, he spotted the swishing, silver tail of Seth’s stunning mare, one of the finest specimens Finn had ever encountered. Strong, swift and loyal. Just like her rider.

‘In the beginning, it was all about the coin,’ Ricochet admitted with a weighty sigh. ‘What would you expect of a sword-for-hire. But now, I suppose…’ the hand dropped from his chin and placed itself on Finn’s shoulder, ‘…I fight for the man at my side. ’

Finn broke off his search to smile warmly at his friend. Switching his spear to his other shoulder, Finn reached over and gripped the back of Ricochet’s neck, pulling the other man in so that their foreheads touched, the metal from both of their helms clanging as they did, making the pair laugh heartily. A glower from one of their lesser superiors startled them back to seriousness and the two men marched on in comfortable silence.

As the countryside rolled away beside them, Finn found Seth’s speckled mare again and finally drank in the sight of his lover and superior officer. The sight shook Finn to his very core. He had never seen Seth in his full regalia as he was now, decked out in full plate armour, the pale light glinting off the steel, giving him the impression of some magical being. The scarlet plume from his helm swayed back and forth with the gait of his horse, perfectly in sync with one another. He looked so majestic, his back straight and proud, that Finn would have sworn he was some lofty lord instead of a nameless orphan stolen away as a newborn.

It was then that both Ricochet and Sami’s words made perfect sense. Finn may have fought for his freedom at first, but now, he had something even more precious to safeguard.

Seth! He fought for Seth!

And he would do anything in his power to protect him.

A full day’s march lead them to the edge of a sprawling forest. Lashley and his officers took one look at the black shadows lurking at the base of the ancient trees and thought it best not to enter with the night imminent. A scout came with news of a woodcarver and his wife living nearby and the troop made their way there, meaning to set up camp for the evening.

The woodcarver was waiting for them, his wife clutching his side, watching as the crowd of armoured men approached. They trembled as they offered their home to the invading army for the night. Eyeing the pair, pale-faced and scared, Finn could not help but think of the time the Red Army had marched into his stepfather’s farm. He had spied the line of crimson cutting through the fields towards them and alerted the old man. His stepfather had shown no fear, welcomed the imposing figure of Baron Corbin to his stead and offered his men hospitality before sending Finn off to slaughter the last of their lambs for the officer’s dinner.

How wickedly fate had turned in an instant. Finn understood, more than most, why the woodcarver and his wife shivered with fear.

The officers retired into the cabin while Finn and the rest of the infantrymen set up tents. The former farm boy was all fingers and thumbs; he dropped the stakes, sending them scattering across the frosty ground, he rumpled the red canvas and smacked his own thumb with the hammer instead of the peg, but fortunately for the Hibernian, Ricochet and his fellow spearmen were veterans at the task and managed to successfully raise the tent in spite of Finn’s best efforts to sabotage their momentum. Each one made sure to cheekily slap their hands across Finn’s shoulders, sarcastically thanking the rookie. Finn grinned wryly; constant ribbing was simply the cross a newbie had to bear. Even Ricochet joined in the teasing, whispering a hushed ‘sorry’ in Finn’s ear as he did so but the Hibernian saw the funny side to it all.

What he did not find funny, however, was the nickname that came flying his way, in a voice as deep and gruff as a rumble of thunder.

‘Well done, boy.’ Finn didn’t move, never bothering to glance over his shoulder as McIntyre strode up behind him. ‘You struggled to put up a fucking tent.’ He spied the towering Caledonian in his peripheral vision now, walking up to the front of the tent with his hands on his hips, eyeing it critically. He turned sharply and glared at the shorter man, his face contorted with a mocking grin. ‘If you can’t even do that right, how the hell are you going to fare in battle? You do realise, tents don’t fight back, don’t ye?’

Finn straightened his back, refusing to let his anger show. The Caledonian would get no rise out of him. ‘Can I help you with anything, sir?’ he asked, saluting politely.

The side of McIntyre’s mouth crooked in a scoff. ‘Help me?’ he asked, indignantly, pointing a finger to his chest. ‘The fuck can you do for me? Oh wait, that’s unfair of me, now isn’t it? I suppose you could… round up some sheep, go feed the chickens, roll around in the mud and not wash for a month, whatever it is you peasants do.’ His face fell, the smirk replaced by a menacing snarl as he closed in on the Hibernian. ‘Or you could come with me to my bunk, keep me warm tonight, like the good little whore you really are.’

That one stung deep and it took all of Finn’s strength not to react in the slightest, not even to bite the inside of his cheek.

‘The one thing I know is that you don’t belong here, boy,’ McIntyre continued his mockery. ‘Far as I’m aware, you being here is putting me and my men at risk. As soon as those Hibee scum see you, they will see our weakness and go in for the kill. You want the blood of these men on your hands, boy?’

‘I would never do a thing to compromise the troop, sir,’ Finn replied, keeping his face pensive and calm. This irked McIntyre even more.

‘Then leave!’ McIntyre spat, prodding his mammoth finger directly into Finn collarbone. ‘You just being here is compromising the troop. Go run off into the woods and live with your fellow filthy animals.’ Seeing he was getting nowhere by trying to physically intimidate the older man, McIntyre straightened up and placed his bear paws on his hips, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. ‘Can’t believe you passed that exam,’ he huffed. ‘Some stupid bet between that wee bawbag Rollins and Corbin and now look. Corbin’s up and left and we’re stuck with you.’ One last look to see if his words were affecting Finn but finding the same calm expression, McIntyre became irritated. ‘The sooner you get an arrow through the heart, the better,’ he hissed before stomping off, making sure to barge Finn brutally with his shoulder on the way past.

Finn waited until the Caledonian was a safe distance away before he rubbed his shoulder. He’d struck the same one Corbin had sliced open with his sword the night he stole him away. Even over a year later, the scar, which reached from his armpit to collar bone throbbed.

He heard his name being called and found Ricochet waving him over. Finn shook all thoughts of McIntyre from his head. The Caledonian could say whatever he wanted; it didn’t change a thing. Finn deserved to be here and he would prove to them all that he was more than just a farm boy playing soldier.

Seth exited the tiny cabin, feeling his head throb from the newly finished meeting. Close behind was Apollo who shot him a knowing look as Seth kneaded his temples with his fingertips.

‘That was… awkward,’ he noted, as Seth gave a weary groan and hurried the pair of them away from the cabin.

‘Uh, it was brutal,’ he sighed, screwing his eyes shut. ‘McIntyre and Ziggler constantly bickering at one another. Rush jumping in every time someone so much as queried Lashley’s orders, I mean, what was he doing? Then Lashley had enough and yelled at him...’

‘Looked to me like Rush was trying to get back into the Field Marshal’s good books,’ Apollo said, as they pair walked side-by-side.

‘Urgh, poor guy,’ Seth had to admit, a part of him felt sorry for the aide who’d fallen from Lashley’s good graces. ‘That bridge was burnt a long time ago.’

‘Makes you feel all the more thankful for what we have doesn’t it, sir?’ Apollo smiled sideways at Seth, who returned the gesture.

‘I thank the Lord Almighty every day I have you by my side, Sesugh,’ Seth admitted with a tired smile. ‘I could never have chosen a better man to act as my aide, even if I’d lived a hundred years.’

‘And I will always be thankful that you did,’ Apollo returned with a solemn tone. ‘It seems strange now we have Field Marshal Lashley in charge but for a long time, a black man could never rise the ranks of the Red Cross. Before you were appointed to Hibernia, I had resigned to being a lowly Infantryman, watching my fellow soldiers being promoted above me, not because they were stronger, wiser or better fighters but simply because they had the ‘right skin tone’.’ Apollo reached over and placed his palm on Seth’s shoulder, stopping the man with the golden streak in his tracks. Seth turned to look at his aide and give him his full attention. ‘You saw something in me that none of my other superiors did and you took a chance on me.’

‘I only saw the potential in you,’ Seth replied, placing both of his hands on Apollo’s shoulders, watching proudly as his aide bowed his head humbly. ‘You did everything else. And you’re still proving every day how incredible a soldier you are. You will make a fine officer one day.’

Apollo jerked his head up, eyes wide. He’d never considered that he could be promoted to officer one day even though most aides eventually landed the position. Seth beamed at seeing the rosy possibilities shining in the man’s eyes.

‘Come,’ Seth said, lightly slapping Apollo on the shoulder before removing his hands. ‘Let’s find some ale. You and I could use a strong drink after that meeting.’

The two men poured themselves a generous cup and sat on the back of a cart, watching the comings-and-goings of the camp around them. Evening had settled long ago and now the camp was lit by a series of torches and small fires, looking like fireflies glimmering in the dark. It reminded Seth of his childhood.

Apollo must have picked up on his nostalgic melancholy. ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked out of the blue. ‘Home, I mean.’

Seth let out a long, heavy sigh. ‘Sometimes,’ he confessed. ‘Although I never really had a home to speak of, not even back in the New Territories.’ None would consider the camp on the southern shores a home, but it was where he had grown up. When he had moved into the Rollins’ household in the northern territories to train as a squire, it had been a shock to the system after all of his years in the tropical sun. ‘Do you miss home?’

‘I miss my father,’ Apollo admitted, his face taking on a melancholy air. ‘I think of him often. Ever since my mother died… it’s like a part of him is now missing. My sister checks in on him regularly.’

‘How is the lovely Ahunna?’ Seth queried. Apollo’s sister was tall and almost as sturdily built as the young aide himself. She had dreams of joining the Red Army, however, the Cross frowned on female soldiers so she made do with working for a wealthy family as a guard, protecting their three daughters. Rumour was she often dressed as a man in order to enter tournaments and was said to be a fearsome opponent.

‘She fares well,’ Apollo said with a sly smile on his face, telling Seth that, like most things it seemed, Apollo knew more than he was letting on.

Their conversation was interrupted by a figure striding towards them. Aleister Black looked haggard so they offered him a cup of ale which he gladly accepted, Apollo surrendering his place on the back of the cart. When asked where the young aide was headed, Apollo replied that, since the cabin was too small to house all the officers, he would raise a tent for Seth to sleep in. With a smart salute, he dismissed himself, Seth smiling thankfully after the younger man.

‘You struck it lucky there,’ Black lifted his cup to indicate the retreating aide.

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ Seth beamed proudly.

‘The rest of them though,’ Aleister rolled his eyes, letting a loud puff of air escape his lips. ‘I’ve seen cats and dogs work better together.’ Seth didn’t need the junior officer to clarify that he was referring to the meeting earlier.

‘When push comes to shove, they somehow manage to pull together,’ he tried to reassure the older man. ‘You had any more thoughts on who you would appoint as your aide?’

The Frisian paused, rolling his emptying cup between hands that were heavily etched with markings of faces and symbols. Almost every inch of the older man’s skin had been decorated with the black scars, a product of his culture, or at least that’s what Seth presumed. He had seen similar markings on Reigns’ body, although they were completely different in style.

He shook the thought away as quickly as it arrived. He didn’t like to think of his former members of the King’s Shield.

‘What do you think of Mann?’ Black finally asked after several minutes of silence.

So the rumour mill back in Dubhlinn had been onto something after all. Ricochet was under Seth’s command and he knew him to be an incredible fighter. A former mercenary or so he was told. Brave, strong and quick – very quick! As to his character, he hadn’t had much chance to speak to the younger man but he knew him to be one of Finn’s closest confidantes and that was the highest commendation in his eyes. Apollo’s words from earlier were also skirting around his mind and he’d be damned if another talented infantryman was overlooked simply because of the colour of his skin.

‘As a soldier you will find none better,’ Seth told the junior officer, ‘and as a man, you will find even less.’

Black bobbed his head in acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing in thought. Seth could see that the decision had already been made more-or-less, but Seth’s approval had sealed it. Finn would miss his fellow spearman but knowing his kind-hearted lover, he would be thrilled to see his best friend go up the rankings.

Black proved to be the perfect companion for Seth that evening. After all the yelling and screaming in the meeting earlier, he enjoyed the few quiet words they shared and cherished the long periods of silence between even more. The fires were starting to burn out when Apollo returned to announce his tent was ready and both officers bid each other a good night and retired to rest.

As Seth followed Apollo through the camp, he came to a sudden and miserable realisation. The thought of sleeping alone in his tent, without the sweet caresses and kisses of his lover, made his insides clench in grief. Glancing across the camp around him, he tried to pick out Finn’s features amongst the few soldiers still awake and came up empty, instead gazing at each passing tent, trying to burn a hole into the crimson structures to find which one housed the Hibernian. He pictured Finn lying sprawled out, naked as the day he was born, the torchlight casting shadows on every crevice of his beautifully sculpted body and his heart ached with burning desire.

It wasn’t just his heart that ached though and his other organ in his lower region was a harder beast to tame. He picked up the pace so that he may reach the seclusion of his tent quicker.

Damn it all! He hated when Finn was right!

‘Here we are, sir,’ Apollo pulled back the flap of his tent for him and Seth felt a rush of relief as he stepped inside. ‘I will be keeping watch outside, if you need anything at all.’

‘Thank you, Sesugh,’ Seth clapped a thankful hand on the younger man’s shoulder before turning away, listening as Apollo sealed the flap shut behind him. A torch was already burning on the small table to his right, his papers waiting for his inspection. Seth rolled his eyes. He was not in the right mindset for work; he had more pressing matters to attend to so he retired through the two sheer drapes towards the back of the tent to his sleeping quarters.

His heart leapt in his chest as he spied another man in there with him, fixing the cushions on his bunk. Finn straightened up, jumping slightly at the fright of Seth’s sudden appearance but seeing it was only his lover, he relaxed and beamed back with a boyish smile. Seth couldn’t stop himself returning the gesture, grinning from ear to ear.

‘I didn’t realise this was your tent,’ Finn confessed, wiping a sliver of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He had taken his gauntlets off; Seth could see them discarded in the corner. ‘Apollo asked me to assist him. I thought he was only showing me the ropes, after my pathetic attempt earlier-‘

Seth shook his head slowly from side-to-side. Sesugh, that crafty, little…

‘You on sentry duty tonight?’ Seth asked, interrupting the older man’s tale.

‘No, sir,’ Finn replied and Seth had to suppress a growl in his throat. He knew he shouldn’t but a part of him liked it when Finn called him ‘sir’.

‘You are now,’ Seth ordered the Hibernian, seeing his shoulders slump slightly. Seth strode up to the older man, eyeing him seductively and soon the penny started to drop in the Hibernian’s features. ‘You are to guard your officer here in his tent.’

‘Understood, sir,’ a knowing smile spread across Finn’s lips. The emphasis he placed on the title told Seth he knew the effect it had on the New Worlder and was using it to stir Seth up into a frenzy. ‘What other duties would you have me do, sir?’

The growl finally escaped, sounding low in Seth’s throat. ‘Remove your tunic, Infantryman.’

Seth saw Finn bite his lip with lust and felt more at ease. After everything the Hibernian had been through, Seth had been worried that a power play like this would scare him off, but it spoke volumes of the trust they had for one another that not only was Finn fine with taking on the subordinate role but that it was actually turning him on.

Seth lay down on the bunk and nestled back into a pile of cushions, making himself comfortable in order to watch the show before him. His eyes took in every movement as Finn’s fingers, each one gnarled and weathered from his years working the farm, unbuckled the sword belt at his waist and discarded it. His bare forearms crossed over his front and those calloused fingers yanked the hem of both his crimson tunic and long sleeved undergarment up and over his head, the Hibernian giving a masculine grunt as he tossed his head loose from the garment. Seth’s hand snaked over the front of his breeches, his manhood unable to take any more of the older man’s infernal teasing.

‘Is this better, sir?’ Finn stood with his legs slightly apart and hands at his back, chin held high, wearing nothing but his subligaculum, boots and greaves. Seth battled to stop his eyes clouding with desire as he drank in the stunning sight before him. Something about Finn’s beauty was ancient. It reminded Seth of his earliest sexual awakening during his schooling at the camp back in the New World. The scholar had been showing etchings of famous stonework from the Ancient Lands, depicting semi-nude gladiators in battle. Spying even the crude carvings of chiseled male flesh had stirred his adolescent manhood for the first time. The scholar had gasped with horror, batted his ears violently and made him stand, sobbing, in the corner for his abhorrent shame.

But now, there was no scholar and no prying eyes to admonish him. Seth could enjoy this spectacle all he liked and he sat back, one hand untying the knot at his breeches in order to release his hardened cockhead and stroke it lazily. While the sight of Finn aroused Seth, the sight of the New Worlder’s reaction, in turn, fired the blood of the Hibernian, much to Seth’s delight. He looked on as Finn absentmindedly began to run his tongue over his dusky pink lips.

‘Tell me, Infantryman Bálor,’ Seth cooed, his voice dripping with forbidden lust. ‘Are you good with those hands of yours?’

‘I’ve been told I can be a bit rough with them,’ Finn replied, making Seth purse his lips until they turned white. Both men were battling to see who could torment the other the most. At this rate, they threatened to blow each other’s load without laying a single hand on them.

‘Come kneel in front of me and I will judge how rough you are,’ Seth commanded but Finn did not rush to follow the order given.

‘Would you have me lose any more of my attire, sir?’ The weathered fingers were now resting on the band of his subligaculum, teasing the edge away to reveal the dents of his hipbones. The offer was incredibly tempting but Seth wanted to win this battle of wits. Finn had already been right once that night, he was not going to going to give the older man the satisfaction a second time.

‘No,’ he smiled smugly up at the Hibernian who narrowed his eyes with suspicion. ‘You may keep the rest of it on.’

The weathered fingers remained at the hem of his undergarment a fraction longer but eventually the Hibernian relented. The metal plate of his greaves clanged lightly as he got down on his knees, placing himself between Seth’s muscular legs. Seth watched as those manly hands crept closer to his groin, his manhood tensing up with the thrill, when Finn abruptly diverted his grip to the hem of Seth’s breeches instead.

‘May I, sir?’ he cocked his head to the side. Such innocence feigned in his features that Seth almost felt annoyed at how easily he could act the coy subordinate.

‘You may,’ Seth replied through gritted teeth. Damn, he’d forgotten the eyes. By inviting Finn closer, he had exposed himself to the Hibernian’s greatest weapon and now, as Finn locked those glittering orbs of bright topaz onto his supposed ‘superior’, all while smoothly removing his breeches from his toned thighs, Seth could feel the power slip through his grasp. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet though.

‘Come closer, Infantryman Bálor,’ Seth commanded and Finn obeyed, leaning that perfect torso of him so agonizingly close that his lower abdominals skimmed the metal of Seth’s breastplate. The sky blue eyes stared deep into Seth’s soul, weakening him by the second. By the skin of his teeth, he managed to grab a long strip of soft fabric and plant it over Finn’s upper face, tying it firmly at the back.

‘Am I not allowed to gaze upon you, sir?’ Finn laughed mildly, his hand moving to adjust the blindfold. Seth grabbed Finn’s wrist before he could pull it off.

‘No you are not,’ he scolded before guiding Finn’s hand down to the area between his legs, which was now a deep shade of red and aching with lust. ‘Now, I gave you an order before, Infantryman Bálor and I wish to see it followed.’

‘As you command, sir.’ There was a wicked smile on those dusky lips and Seth found out all too soon why that was as Finn grabbed Seth’s hips and yanked him forward, propping his lower half up on Finn’s bare thighs. One weathered hand slinked its way up the flank of Seth’s leg from knee to waist, the movement so painfully slow that it made the New-Worlder’s eyes water. His head arched back as he groaned out in agony.

Finn’s other hand gave the same treatment to the opposite leg and Seth felt himself about to scold the older man for teasing so cruelly but he bit his tongue. A good thing too for, without warning, Finn’s fingers were wrapped around his member. The burst of excitement made him gasp and he gripped the sheets beneath him, the pleasure only growing as Finn began to slowly but firmly glide his fist up Seth’s rigid shaft, his thumb kneading the sensitive flesh at its tip, smearing it with Seth’s own early juices before sliding back down all the way to the base.

Seth had officially become a mess. The noises that emitted from his throat were the kinds heard in whorehouses, unabashed whimpers and moans of want.

‘Sssshhhh, sir,’ Finn’s husky whisper above him didn’t help ease his torture. ‘If anyone should hear, they will suspect I have come to garrote you in your bed.’ He squeezed Seth’s manhood on the word ‘garrote’, its double meaning shining through as clear as day. Seth had nearly squealed at the contact so, seeing Finn’s point, he clumsily unbuckled his sword belt and stuck the worn leather between his teeth.

Up until now, he had been so focused on the battle he was playing with his lover that he hadn’t taken into account the danger. They pair of them were engaged in forbidden rituals with only the thin canvas of a tent to hide their crimes, which may conceal them from view but it did little to muffle the noise. As he bit down into the leather hard, he felt a jolt of excitement rush up his spine at the thrill of the whole ordeal.

‘Sir, you are coming close to your climax,’ Finn’s hushed tone sounded above him. ‘If you like, I could prolong your pleasure by mounting you?’

Seth’s eyes sprang open and the first thing he saw was the wide grin on Finn’s lower face. That sneaky Hibernian! Seth had taken away his greatest power by masking his eyes so in return the older man had taken away Seth’s control by gagging him. Seth could no longer give the orders and had fallen completely into Finn’s clutches. Seth would have been either rueful or impressed but all he felt in that moment was needy. He bucked his hips, his manhood thrusting itself further into Finn’s fist. Finn understood the signal but needed more. He always needed more when it came to consent.

‘I need to hear you say it, my love,’ he said, softly, gone was the playful use of ‘sir’ and teasing. This was a serious matter for him, having had his own consent ignored time and time again by his former master, his body becoming nothing more than a plaything for Corbin to abuse as he pleased.

Seth completely understood why Finn felt this way but he was about to burst any second and was growing frustrated. He yanked the belt out of his mouth. ‘Just do it already,’ he snarled before shoving the leather back in.

The lustful grin returned to Finn’s lips and he made Seth watch as he placed two of his fingers into his mouth, sucking wickedly on his digits while his lover squirmed beneath him impatiently. Once well lubricated, those fingers slid to his rear, sadly out of Seth’s view as Finn prepared himself. The other hand he held palm up to his face and his long, pink tongue licked the pale flesh before wrapping it once more around Seth’s member, the saliva and early juices mixing to slick up Seth for entry.

Finally, Finn pulled away the silk from the back of his subligaculum, the fabric draping down the front like a loincloth, blocking any view of his own manhood although Seth could see the silk tenting at the Hibernian’s pelvis. Finn raised himself up onto his knees, the metal greaves creaking out and lowered himself down onto Seth’s waiting cockhead. With the first, rough push, Seth was inside of him and he saw Finn bite his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, the pale skin of his cheeks blushing a deep pink. More and more, he took Seth into him until their skin collided once more and the pair adjusted themselves so that Finn straddled the younger man’s hips and thighs.

Then he began to move. Slowly at first but as the want grew worse, he picked up the pace, rutting down onto Seth’s member as if he needed the penetration in order to survive. Beneath him, Seth gave in entirely, no longer caring for victory in their battle; who cares if Finn had outwitted him again that night, they had both won in the end. Feeling the Hibernian’s slick, hot flesh tighten around his own, his mind became a tangled blur, caring about nothing else but the searing pleasure inside of him. He opened his eyes to watch the writhing Adonis above him, each of his chiseled muscles strained, his brow glistening as his short dark hair stuck to it in clumps.

He longed to lay his hands on the beautiful creature and shoving aside the silk of the trailing subligaculum, his fist found Finn’s erection and began to pump, the sensation making the man above him gasp out and pick up the pace even more.

Within seconds, Seth’s vision became obscured by bursts of exploding colour as he climaxed inside of his lover, Finn soon following, his seed dripping from between Seth’s fingers onto his metal breastplate. Finn’s head flopped forward, his lower lip dangling limply and Seth gently pulled him down to lie next to him, wrapping a steel-plated arm around Finn’s naked shoulder. The other prized the blindfold away, revealing two heavy lidded orbs of cloudy blue.

The pair lay with their foreheads resting against each other, trying to catch their breaths, their thoughts clambering to right themselves again.

‘Stay with me tonight,’ Seth pleaded, tightening his grip on Finn’s shoulders.

Finn replied by nuzzling in closer to Seth’s side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle arrives sooner than expected.  
> There are casualties...

Seth knew straight away that something wasn’t right.

Waking up, entangled in the arms of Finn who was sleeping as soundly as a babe, he felt that old familiar twist in his gut that something terrible was happening outside the four walls of that tent. He craned his ears and swore he heard a man screaming in the distance.

‘Finn! Finn!’ he shook the naked man beside him. ‘Wake up, quickly.’

Finn blinked several times, trying to shake himself from his stupour. ‘Seth?’ he asked on seeing the look of panic on the younger man’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

Seth was not surprised in the slightest when he heard Apollo rip open the main flap to their tent and come rushing towards the drapes that separated the bedchamber, fortunately making no attempt to enter the other side of the curtain.

‘Sir, sir!’ he called out, his voice raised in panic.

Seth was already on his feet, grabbing at his clothes. ‘What’s happening, Sesugh?’

‘An ambush, sir,’ Apollo replied. ‘The rebels took out several of our sentries and are attacking the campsite.’

‘Hell’s teeth,’ Seth spat as he plastered on his armour as effortlessly as a second skin. Finn beside him, however, was not as accustomed to the bulky plates of steel and was fumbling to get dressed as quickly as he could. Seth placed a calming hand on his shoulder, his other hand gripped around the hilt of his sword strapped to his waist.

‘Take your time,’ he ordered the older man. ‘We can’t be seen leaving together at the same time anyway. Make sure your armour is on properly. Go fetch your helm and spear before joining the fight.’

Finn visibly gulped, making Seth’s heart wrench. He bent down, pulling him into a fierce kiss.

‘Stay safe,’ he whispered to the Hibernian.

‘You too,’ Finn returned, those blue eyes wide with fear as Seth turned away and exited the tent with Apollo at his side.

As soon as he was outside, Seth could make out the danger. Around the edges of the camp, tents had been set alight and now in the glow of the flames he could make out figures darting to and fro. Some were fellow soldiers of The Cross, semi-nude, half-dazed with sleep and running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what was going on. Other shadows moved quicker, with more purpose.

Danger was lurking in the shadows and these men needed direction before they were slaughtered like abandoned lambs by the pack of wolves.

‘Where’s Lashley and the other officers?’ Seth asked Apollo as he shoved on his helm and began to run towards the fringes of the camp.

‘In the cabin,’ his aide replied. ‘I sent Ziggler to warn them. They will arrive soon.’

‘In the meantime, it’s up to us,’ Seth noted through gritted teeth.

As they dashed by each tent, the two men smacked the side of their swords against the poles, ordering everyone inside to wake up and prepare for battle; an ambush was afoot. Sometimes a groggy head would poke out of the flap and, once they saw the urgency, rushed inside to comply. It would take a few minutes for the men to dress and join them but Seth had no time to wait, running headlong for the burning tents on the near horizon.

He’d reached the first of the fiery structures and instructed Apollo to check each one in case there were men still trapped inside, when two half-naked soldiers almost ran into him, their faces smeared with smoke and panic in their eyes. Seth halted them in their tracks and seeing the officer’s plume in his helm, the men found enough control in their fear to stop and salute. Pointing his sword into the centre of the camp, Seth ordered the two men to dress and arm themselves.

‘Then come straight back here,’ he fixed the pair with a look of complete authority. ‘By that time your commanding officer will be ready for you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ they gave another salute and as they disappeared from view Seth’s attention was stolen by a sickening sound over his shoulder. He knew a death cry when he heard it.

Leaping over a burning tent line, he found the culprits. A fellow soldier was slumped on his knees, a sword run straight through his naked chest. Behind him, his assassin, a tall, broad-shouldered man with hair and beard the colour of the flames consuming the tents around them, placed his foot onto the soldier’s spine in order to yank his blade free. His victim slumped to the floor, dead.

Seth tightened his grip on his sword handle, watching with blood-boiled fury as the man glanced in his direction. His fury turned to fright as three other figures emerged from the shadows to surround him.

By the time Finn left the tent, the campsite was in chaos. The fires were raging all around him, shrieks and cries of horror sounding in every direction. He stood for a moment, watching the terrifying episode play out before his very eyes, unable to imagine that the same men charging around in the throes of wild terror were the same soldiers who he had trained with every day for the past three months, the most dominant army in the history of the entire world, unrivalled in terms of skill and discipline.

‘Out of the way,’ a commanding voice boomed behind him and he leapt aside to allow a small platoon of soldiers rushing through, each donning their full plated armour, shield and sword in hand, sprinting in perfect unison. He felt a rush of relief; at least some could keep their heads.

And he had to keep his own, for Seth’s sake.

He knew his own unit would be looking for him so he dashed back to his tent to fetch his helm and spear as instructed by Seth. It was on his return towards the action that he heard a mighty bellow to his left and saw a man rushing blindly towards him. Finn masterfully sidestepped the familiar blonde as he sped past and he wondered where Ziggler was going at such a speed.

It was then that he spotted the cabin where the rest of the officers had been sleeping.

It was ablaze. The flames roared as they licked the black sky above. It wasn’t the only sound that turned Finn’s blood to ice. He could hear it as strongly as the surge of the fire.

A man’s voice calling for help from inside of the inferno.

A man with a Caledonian accent!

Seth readied his body into a fighting stance, sword and shield bared. He was outnumbered but he was better trained and better equipped. A quick glean around his opponent and he could see their lack of steel plated armour, how rusted their weapons and how scrawny their sword arms. These were the rebels they were instructed to quell, made up from the looks of it by peasants. An army whose soldiers consisted of bakers, farriers and farmers. It was possible that one or two possessed the incredible fighting skill that Finn did in spite of his low-born status but it was unlikely; Finn was one of a kind.

Although…

Seth’s eye moved towards the fiery haired man. He was huge and charged with dense muscle. Possibly a former knight of the old King but unlikely; judging by his age, he would have been an infant when The Cross seized control of Hibernia. Nevertheless he was an opponent to keep a close eye on.

The rebels moved in, two flanking him on either side while the third moved to his rear, the large man boxing him completely. Seth bent his knees, pulled his shield in tight and kept a wary eye for the first sign of movement.

The man to his rear charged first, buoyed by the false belief that Seth couldn’t see him. He had no shield so it took little effort for Seth to cleave his arm, the entire limb from elbow to wrist, even the sword gripped in his fist, falling to the floor in a splatter of dark red blood, his wails screeching in the air around him.

The other two at his flanks panicked at the sight and rushed in. Seth blocked their blows swiftly, one after the other, before taking up the position where the fallen rebel had once been, his back to the blazing tents behind him. The safest place for him to be; his men were getting ready and would be there to offer their support soon enough, not to mention somewhere amongst the blazes, Apollo was there. He prayed that his aide spotted the danger and jumped in as soon as possible.

The two rebels went on the attack again, this time, they were joined by the huge man who was brandishing a claymore that would put McIntyre’s to shame. Seth didn’t stand his chances in blocking the claymore’s attack and rolled to the side, out of reach of the three weapons swiping through the air to maim and kill the New Worlder. Seth effortlessly spun out of the roll onto his feet, coming out behind one of the rebels and before the man had a chance to feel the terror, Seth had run him through with his sword. Blood pooled out of his mouth as he slumped to the floor.

Two down, two to go.

Seeing two of his men killed before his very eyes, the fiery haired man saw red and barrelled towards Seth, swiping his claymore left and right. Each swing would have severed his head from his neck had they hit, but Seth hopped safely out of harm’s way each time, hearing the steel whistle through the air with every missed blow.

He felt an intense heat at his back and glimpsed over his shoulder briefly to a horror-filled sight. Two tents were ablaze at his back, too close together for him to squeeze through. He had backed himself into a corner. The towering man saw this and went in for the kill, raising his claymore over his head with both hands on the hilt, he let out a mighty roar.

Seth saw the opening and thrusted his sword into soft flesh under the man’s arm, just above his leather breastplate. The giant reeled, Seth wasting no time as he slashed the man across his thigh to hobble him. Down on one knee, the fiery haired man kept his grip on the claymore, but Seth stamped his boot onto the steel, pinning it to the ground. At the same time, he placed the pointed tip of his sword at the man’s jugular, locking him in defeat.

‘I’d prefer not to kill you,’ Seth growled at the fallen man as the fire roared around them, the crackles of embers popping in their ears. ‘You could be useful to us, once we get you talking.’

The fiery haired man spat straight in Seth’s face, the man with the golden streak not even flinching as the spittle ran down his cheek. ‘Trasna ort féin!’ the fiery haired man snarled in the old Hibernian tongue.

‘I will even overlook your use of the forbidden language,’ Seth narrowed his eyes at the giant, ‘as a sign of goodwill.’

The man did not accept the olive branch, instead he tried to yank his weapon free. With a heavy sigh, Seth steadied his grip on his sword handle in order to wrench it through the man’s neck when pain tore through his knee. He screamed out as the agony engulfed his lower leg, looking down to find the point of a dagger protruding from his kneecap, the wound gushing with blood.

Focusing on defeating the giant, he had forgotten about the fourth rebel.

And now he’d been so focused on his knee that he didn’t see the giant get to his feet until he smashed his boot straight into Seth’s face. It was an almighty blow, as if God himself had struck him. The world upended as Seth went crashing against the floor with a clatter of steel. His helm went flying off his head, his two toned hair tumbling out onto the mud-caked ground.

He gasped as blood spilled freely from his nose, threatening to choke him. He tried to grasp his situation as the sound of ill-omened cackles filled the air around him. The men were advancing on him, seeing their prey caught in their trap and ready for slaughter. Seth fumbled around for his sword, grabbing the hilt and pointed it at his assailants in both hands.

‘I’m down you bastards,’ he gritted through clenched teeth, ‘but I’m not out. Come and finish it.’

The larger of the two men paused, his mouth gaping open as he looked down on Seth with renewed interest. His companion went in for the kill but the fiery haired man held him back with a mammoth arm.

‘Is fearr leat an Rí,’ he hushed out in that strange foreign tongue. When Finn uttered words in the forbidden language, it stirred Seth’s soul like sweet music. In this man’s mouth, as it slowly curled either side into a wicked grin, it stirred nothing but fear in the New Worlder.

He watched on, tightening his grip on his sword, as the giant edged ever closer, the fearsome claymore in his grasp. The end was incoming, this Seth knew, and he was thankful that at least he had spent his final night in the arms of the man he loved.

Finn shielded his eyes as the sweat poured down his brow from the intensity of the flames. He could hear chunks of the cabin falling to the ground as the wood was destroyed and paused, knowing it was stupid to even consider entering the doomed house.

But he also heard the screams clearly coming from inside, shrieking with desperation and he knew he had no other choice.

Pulling his tunic up over his nose and holding his shield above his head, Finn rushed into the fiery pit. Instantly he regretted his actions as he threatened to faint in the heat, feeling as if his skin was cooking. Fortunately it didn’t take long to locate McIntyre. He could see the raven haired man writhing in a corner of the room, one half of his towering frame trapped underneath a huge, charred beam.

‘SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!!!’ he screamed through bouts of coughs, the smoke in the room threatening to strangle his lungs. ‘ANYBODY! HEEEELP!’

‘I’m here, sir,’ Finn replied, keeping his voice calm as he rushed towards the officer and crouched down beside him.

‘Dagda’s fucking beard!’ McIntyre hissed as he spied his saviour. ‘Not you, anybody but you!’

‘I can leave if you want, sir,’ Finn snarled at his superior, getting back to his feet. If there was not a time for McIntyre’s moodiness, it was right here and now.

‘NO! NO!’ McIntyre reached out and grabbed Finn’s boot with white knuckles. ‘I’m sorry. Please! Help me!’

‘Here, hold this to protect yourself,’ Finn passed McIntyre his shield and he held it above his head to keep it safe from dropping debris. Finn placed his spear on the ground and took in the mass of wood pinning McIntyre down. He had little chance of shifting it but he had not other choice. Nobody else had come at the sound of their superior’s pleas – Ziggler it seemed, had run in the opposite direction.

Hunching down into a squat, Finn placed both hands under the beam and instantly pulled them back with a yelp. His palms were scolded. The beam, even though it was no longer on fire, was still searing to the touch, bright orange embers hidden beneath the black ash. With a curse under his breath, Finn ripped off the bottom of his tunic and wrapped the fabric around his fists. It would only soften the effect of the burns but it would help.

Returning to the beam, he braced his back and with a loud grunt, tried to prize the heavy chunk of wood away. No good. He tried again but failed a second time.

‘I can’t move it,’ he informed McIntyre with a ragged shake of his head. ‘It’s too heavy.’

‘Then try again for fuck’s sake!’ McIntyre spat. But Finn knew it was useless. He was not strong enough and without anyone else to help him he had no chance.

It was then that a memory surfaced in his mind, something so benign that it had been long forgot. He pictured a day after the storms. One of the ewes had sheltered herself in a nook by the mountainside but in the battering typhoon, a huge rock had dislodged itself and fallen over the entrance, trapping her inside. Finn had tried to move the rock and failed so he had fetched his stepfather.

‘Stand back, son,’ he had said, gently moving the worried young man aside and Finn had watched on as he moved the huge boulder all by himself using nothing but his walking stick. When asked how he’d done it, his stepfather had shown him the trick. Finn wondered if that same trick would work now. He spotted his spear on the floor and picked it up. The wooden shaft was thick and sturdy, similar to his stepfather’s walking stick. Now all he needed was a hinge.

‘The hell are you doing?’ McIntyre yelled as Finn grabbed what appeared to have once been a large stone from the hearth and set it beside the beam.

‘You a man of The Cross or the old gods?’ Finn asked as he fitted the butt of his spear under the beam, bringing it to rest against the hearthstone.

‘What kind of simpleton question is that?’ McIntyre barked, completely flummoxed by Finn’s odd behaviour. ‘The Cross, of course!’

Finn fixed McIntyre with a sharp look, his blue eyes glistening in the flames around him like the multi-cut surface of a gemstone. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make the huge, foul-tempered Caledonian shrink in on himself.

‘Then you better start praying to your One God,’ Finn said, his voice low.

The grin on the fiery haired man’s face grew, each step bringing him closer and closer to the prone officer of The Cross lying on the floor. Seth tried to back away using his one good leg, but the mud slurped in around him, threatening to consume him into the earth itself.

His grip tightened on his sword. He’d be damned if he’d go down without a fight.

A man’s roar filled the air. A flash of silver, a ringing clang of steel and the giant was forced backwards. The man who had come to Seth’s aid stood over him now, protecting him with sword raised.

‘Sesugh,’ Seth choked out.

‘I am here, sir,’ Apollo reassured his superior, never taking his eyes from the two rebels before him. ‘I will protect you until my dying breath.’

‘Our men?’

‘On their way.’

From his place on the ground, Seth could see the two rebels had stopped laughing, their victory slipping through their grasp. A taut motion of the head from the giant and the two men split up, flanking Apollo on either side. The man of The Cross did not wait for an attack.

He chanced his luck with the taller man first, his swipe forcing the fiery haired giant back, before turning to block the blow from the other rebel. Apollo was thick set and strong and he used that to his advantage, pushing back against the rebel’s weapon in order to unbalance him. It worked and the skinnier man nearly tripped over his own feet but Apollo had no opportunity to finish the job as the giant swiped at him again.

Seth’s whole body jerked as Apollo went to block the swipe from the claymore. The force of the massive weapon smashed against Apollo’s sword and shield with such power that the aide was bent backwards, his spine arching in on itself.

But he blocked it nonetheless, a feat of superhuman strength that nobody else except perhaps McIntyre could have pulled off. Speaking of the Caledonian, where the hell was he and the other officers? Seth looked around him desperately, waiting for their reinforcement to arrive. He and Apollo’s time was swiftly running out.

The other rebel saw the opening while Apollo tried to deflect the claymore’s kiss, his dagger finding the plump flesh at Apollo’s thigh above his greaves. Seth cried out, Apollo grunted but he held firm until he finally managed to push the fiery haired man’s pressure away.

By the time the rebel raised his dagger and ducked in for another blow, Apollo was ready. The sword turned at the perfect moment and the rebel only succeeded in running directly onto the point of Apollo’s steel. The aide thrust it in further, skewering the man all the way through to make sure the deed was done before yanking his weapon free.

The third rebel fell and Seth felt the first hope of victory surge through him…

…only to see it dashed away in one swift blow.

He had no time to shout out a warning, no time for a sound to pass his lips before the claymore found its target and embedded itself right through Apollo’s chest. Seth watched on as the colour left his face, the blood freezing in his veins as his beloved aide and friend spied the blood-soaked blade sticking out from between shards of his breastplate, the look of shock and confusion on his face enough to break hearts made of stone.

His last look was saved for Seth. A glance that spoke volumes in its silence.

Sir, I’m sorry. It has been a pleasure serving you.

The claymore came loose and Apollo fell to the floor. Seth became lost in a tangled web of emotions, screaming his aide’s name over and over until his throat was shred to ribbons. So lost in the grief of his friend, he barely noticed the hands grabbing him, dragging him into the black shadows of the trees and away.

Finn tightened the wraps around his hands and grabbed hold of the spear. He had no idea if this would work but it was their only chance. At this rate, even Finn would be lucky to escape this raging inferno alive.

He shoved down on the spear end and felt his heart sink when it wouldn’t budge. He gritted his teeth. More pressure, his thoughts yelled at him, it needs more pressure.

He leapt up and placed his entire upper body against the spear end. His body weight coupled with that of his plate armour worked wonders and the lever and fulcrum trick that his stepfather had taught him succeeded in lifting the beam up off McIntyre.

‘NOW! MOVE!’ he ordered the Caledonian, who needed no further instruction. Scrambling safely away from the beam, he tried to make a move for the door but his body was too beaten from being trapped so long. Finn saw his failed effort and, leaving his spear behind, went to his superior’s aid. Pulling a huge arm across his shoulders, Finn yelled at the Caledonian to run and together, the pair lumbered through the burning remnants of the cabin towards the door. They barely passed the threshold before the entire structure behind them collapsed into a heap of ash and flames.

Sprawled across the muddy floor, the pair looked back in wide-eyed horror the fate that would have befallen them had they not escaped the blaze when they did. McIntyre especially seemed drowned in terror, unable to even suck in a breath. Finn though, had no time to ensure the Caledonian recovered.

‘I’ll send someone to get you to safety, sir,’ he told the raven-haired man. ‘Right now, I must go help my troop.’

McIntyre could only nod dumbly back, his tongue lolling limply in his open mouth. Even when Finn gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, it did nothing to rouse the large man from his stupor, his one and only focus on the burning building before him.

Grabbing the nearest man and pointing him in McIntyre’s direction, Finn sprinted towards the action. He could see the sea of crimson and steel clad men locked in battle with their foe. Now that the terror of rescuing McIntyre from the burning cabin was over, Finn’s fear settled on Seth. Where was his lover amongst all of this turmoil? Was he hurt or worse? Finn forced the terrifying possibilities from his mind as he unsheathed his sword. With his shield and spear gone, he had only it and his dagger to rely on. If it meant protecting Seth, they would be more than enough.

The fighting was almost over by the time Finn reached the melee. Once the Red Army had recuperated from the surprise of the nighttime attack, they had pushed back against their assailants with all the deadly precision they were known across the world for. Spying a scattering of enemies lying dead at his feet, Finn shook his head at how ill-equipped the ambushers were. He understood why they had attacked the way they did; they would have stood no chance against the superior army on a battlefield.

‘Finn!’ The Hibernian stopped on hearing his name and turned to see Ricochet running towards him. His helm was gone and there was blood splattered across his breastplate. Finn knew it wasn’t the New Worlder’s blood. ‘Where have you been?’

‘A long story,’ Finn waved his concern away with an impatient hand. ‘What are our orders?’

‘You missed the fighting,’ Ricochet lightly scolded the rookie. ‘The last of the rebels have taken off into the woods.’

Finn glanced around him, trying to find Seth’s welcome features amongst the throng of crimson glad men. ‘Where are Seth and Apollo?’ he asked, forgetting in his panic to address his superior officers by their titles. ‘I saw them heading this way when the attack began.’

‘I have not seen them,’ Ricochet confessed. ‘We arrived expecting Officer Rollins to be waiting on us but there was no sign of him.’ Finn felt a mass of invisible fingers reach around his heart and clench tightly.

‘I need to find him,’ Finn stuttered out, his head growing light and dizzy.

‘Then go,’ Ricochet patted him on the shoulder to give his blessing, the concern for his friend etched into his features. ‘Holler for help if you need us.’

Finn was off like a dart, running in between the charred corpses of the tents, seeking each nook and cranny for any sign of his lover. At his feet, he leapt over the still bodies of the attackers but closely inspected those of his fellow soldiers. Each time he spied a crimson tunic, he felt a pang of terror until he turned their heads to spy their faces. Some of the fallen he had known well, one or two were even fellow rookies he had spent every day of the past three months with but he had no time to grieve them. There was one man above all else that he needed to find and prayed to every god of Hibernian lore than he could find.

The fingers squeezing his heart tightened their grip as he reached the darkened edges of the camp, the shadows of the tree-line beyond resembling a terrifying beast, smirking back at him with the promise of dangers untold. It was at that moment that he heard the voice, a gurgle of a dying man. Finn followed the sickening sound, until he rounded two burnt out tents softly smouldering into ash and he spotted the figure panting heavily on the floor.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ he cursed as he dashed to Apollo’s side, gathering the struggling man into his arms. The Hibernian’s breath clogged his larynx as he spied the state of the man. His dark skin was clammy and cold to the touch while blood dripped in a long red line from the corner of his mouth. Old blood, Finn noticed, same as the red that stained the front and back of his breastplate. He held back a sob as the realisation hit that the younger man’s life could not be saved.

‘Ffffiiii-‘ Apollo tried to speak but his lungs were shutting down in his chest. Finn, however, knew his name when he heard it.

‘Yes, it’s me, sir,’ he tried to give what comfort he could to the dying man. ‘I’m here, sir.’

‘Ssssss-‘ It was a slurred sound, as if he were drunk but Finn knew. Finn knew. And the fingers wrenched his heart without mercy.

‘Where is he?’ he desperately asked the man in his arms, trying to ignore the scarlet-plumed helm left abandoned on the floor a mere foot away from them. ‘Where is Seth?’

Apollo could say no more with his tongue but with the last ounce of strength he possessed, he raised a shaky finger to point in the direction of the gloomy tree line. Finn stared wide-eyed into the hungry darkness, shivering violently as the frosty night air grabbed him.

With a last soft rattle, Apollo’s fingers fell and the man went limp in Finn’s arms. Despite the unprecedented alarm he felt, he found enough sense to call for help. A familiar face came bounding his way, the Hibernian never happier to spy the bright orange hair of Sami Zayn. He was down on his knees beside the pair in an instant, demanding to know what had happened when Finn passed Apollo’s still body into Sami’s arms in order to get to his feet.

‘Where are you going?’ Sami yelled as Finn began to run towards the black woods. ‘Finn! FINN! WAIT, COME BACK!’

His words fell on deaf ears. Finn only cared for one thing and that was finding Seth, even as the shadows of the ancient forest opened its cavernous maw and swallowed the Hibernian whole, he never felt a pang of fear. Pure determination was zipping through his veins, spurring him on further and further into darkness as thick as pitch.

He cursed his armour as it clanked with every pace, knowing that if he hadn’t worn the infernal protection, his assassin tread would carry him as silently as the breeze into the enemy’s territory, but since he had no stealth to his name, he saw no reason in pretending so and began to call out Seth’s name. His cries echoed around him, bouncing off of trees and boughs to disorientate him. Yet, he never heard a reply.

He had been heard, however, and halted as his way was blocked by one of the retreating ambushers, carrying a sword in dire need of a whetstone. Finn stared the man down, brandishing his sharpened steel with deadly threat. Finn kept his wits about him; there was a good chance that this man was not alone. Unfortunately the plates of his steel helm blocked most of his peripheral vision.

The man charged towards him and Finn leapt to the side, avoiding the blow. The man was slow, sloppy. It would not take much to subdue him. He went on the offence again, his movements so easy to read that Finn almost felt sorry for him. Instead of attacking with the point of his sword, Finn simply thrust the heavy hilt directly into the man’s face. He heard a loud crack as the man’s nose practically caved in on itself, the man falling back and screaming in agony.

The battle won, Finn went to turn and continue his search for Seth when a sharp pain tore through his shoulder. A pain that very part of his body had known intimately before. The bite of sharpened steel.

Without a second thought, Finn spun around and planted his sword into his assailant, his blow hitting its target perfectly, tearing right through the man’s heart.

At the same time, Finn made out the man’s face and felt as if the steel had wrenched his own chest too. His attacker was young, much younger than even Seth, barely out of adolescence. The freckled cheeks of the teenager turned a pallid white as his life drained away from him, the terror shining in his large brown eyes.

‘F-father,’ he stammered out and blood began to dribble from the side of his mouth.

‘Ciaran!’ the man who Finn had defeated screamed out from the ground. ‘Ciaran, my beautiful baby boy!’

As if his heart couldn’t take enough punishment, Finn felt it shred into pieces. It wasn’t just the sight of the young life he’d stolen away (as easily as Sami warned him it would be). It wasn’t just the sounds of the father sobbing wildly for his lost son. It was knowing the young man’s name, it was hearing his voice.

How had he lost sight of everything? He had thought of these men as nothing more than ambushers, the enemy, men who meant to do harm to his friend and lover.

How had he forgotten that these men were of his own kin?

These men were Hibernian.

Feeling the grief overtake him, Finn pulled the young man tight into his chest, heard his final breaths shudder in his ear. His own lungs could barely cope, strangling in his lungs as he shut off the world around him, locked in the horror of his actions.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian disobeys his orders

Finn was a statue, staring silently down into the far off distance as his wounded shoulder was wrapped with bandages, deaf ears falling on the words of the healer as he assured the rookie that the cut was superficial and would heal in time without even leaving a scar.

But Finn knew that he now possessed scars that would never fade away with time.

His friends hovered around him, none wishing to break the silence. As the healer finished up and left, Sami took a seat on Finn’s left side while Owens moved to his right. The larger of the New-Franks held something out, offering it to the shaken Hibernian. Finn spied the hip flash and wearily accepted it, wincing at the stabbing pain in his shoulder. Taking a large gulp of the searing liquid he immediately felt the effects of the liquor go straight to his thumping head.

‘We will find him, Finn,’ Neville broached the unspoken subject tentatively. He tried to sound confident but failed. It only served to make Finn’s heart ache even more.

None bar Sami knew of Finn’s secret affair with their commanding officer, but they all knew they had an unbreakable bond as close as brothers. Seth had been the one to free Finn from his chains after all.

Sami gave Finn’s good shoulder a tight squeeze in reassurance. ‘They are questioning that rebel you captured as we speak,’ he reminded the older man.

Finn had been so lost in grief after his first kill that he had barely noticed Sami and Owens running into the woods behind him. Owens had swiftly pinned down and bound the injured father while Sami had to coax Finn back to his senses in order to prize the dead son from his arms. It was then that the memory of his original mission returned to the Hibernian and he had tried to take off again but Sami had stopped him. It took a great deal of persuasion to get Finn to agree to return to camp with them and receive treatment from a healer while they awaited orders on how they would rescue Seth from the clutches of the enemy.

The look in Finn’s eyes retreated further away into the distance so Owens reached over and guided the flask towards Finn’s mouth again. The Hibernian blindly followed his silent orders and chugged back another scorching glug of the liquor. This time he nearly coughed at the sting.

He realised at that moment that Sami had been wrong about his best friend. Owens may drink himself into a stupour after every battle but it was not to forget, only to numb the pain for a while.

It was impossible to forget.

Ciaran. His name had been Ciaran, meaning ‘dark’. Now forever a dark patch on Finn’s soul.

He took another large gulp of the liquor and winced as it tore down the length of his throat.

‘Finn!’ The company looked up as their fifth member, Ricochet stuck his head into the tent. It looked as if he had been running. Finn’s ears pricked up.

‘Any news?’ he asked, blue eyes wide.

‘You are being summoned,’ Ricochet replied, giving nothing tangible away. Finn was on his feet in seconds, handing the flask back to Owens as he followed Ricochet out of the tent.

The stench of smoke still lingered in the air, hanging like a thick mist all around them. Finn ignored the solemn activity around him as his fellow soldiers tended to the damage from the night’s attack; some were taking stock of their scorched tents, some were nursing the wounded while others were overseeing the collection of the dead for the pyre.

But Finn passed by it all, keeping his gaze fixed on Ricochet’s back as he lead him through the myriad of surviving tents to a large one located near the centre. Opening the flap, he beckoned the Hibernian inside.

‘I’ve brought Infantryman Bálor as requested, sir,’ Ricochet announced. The hulking figure of Lashley turned around at his arrival and thanked Ricochet before dismissing him. He didn’t go far, Finn noticed, only stood sentry at the door in case he was needed to relay another message.

Looking around the space, Finn spotted Junior Officer Black and a number of lesser superiors. But the figure that captured Finn’s attention immediately was the man on the floor, his arms bound behind him to the large tent pole, old, sticky blood clinging to his face. Finn’s felt his chest lurch as he recognised the father of the man he had killed.

As soon as the greying man laid eyes on Finn, his eyes flared with unchecked rage and he began to spit incessant bile at the rookie soldier. ‘Muc na Croise!’ he spewed, the spittle flying from his blood-caked lips. ‘Mallacht na baintrí ort! Nára bheire an mhaidin ort! Go ndalladh an diabhal thú! Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú! Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire do chnámh do dhroma!’

Finn could only stare back at the man, feeling his wrath bruise him like the blow from a club. He did not begrudge the man his anger and allowed him to pummel him with every bile-filled word.

‘Well?’ Lashley’s voice cut through the prisoner’s rant. Finn turned to his commanding officer with eyebrows raised. ‘Tell us what he’s saying?’

‘I…I don’t know,’ Finn shook his head, helplessly.

‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ Lashley bellowed. ‘You’re Hibernian aren’t you?’

‘My deepest apologies, Field Commander,’ Finn lowered his head, feeling the effects of Lashley’s words as deeply as the dagger that had been embedded in his shoulder. Was he Hibernian? Could he call himself so after this? ‘I was a babe at the time of the invasion. I never leant a word of the old tongue.’

Lashley growled with frustration. ‘Then what use are you, exactly?’ The question was rhetorical so Finn kept quiet. ‘Out of my sight, Infantryman.’

Finn was glad to leave, unable to face his fellow countryman any more, but before he disappeared through the main flap of the tent, he heard Lashley order one of the lesser superiors to fetch Wyatt. His blood turned to ice.

Everyone knew the name Bray Wyatt and his ‘unique’ position in the Red Army. As their residential torturer, he was a master of inflicting pain, of twisting a man’s body to extract the information he wanted. None were known to withstand his methods for long.

Finn stumbled blindly, trying to get as far away as the prisoner’s tent as possible. One hand reached for the other, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing at the scars between his fingers. He’d been in that man’s position; bound and helpless while Corbin sliced his flesh with a sharpened blade, ripping into those hidden, sensitive parts of his body. The pain had been indescribable.

Hadn’t Finn caused that man enough pain?

The sound of male grunts tore him from his thoughts and he quaked at seeing the pyre being prepared for the deceased rebels. It was a far cry from the one in the centre of the camp meant for their fallen comrades; each of their corpses had been wrapped in crimson shrouds and been laid carefully in neatly stacked rows. Meanwhile his fellow Hibernians had been tossed haphazardly onto the pyre with no ceremony or respect. Finn’s stomach wretched at the callous treatment of his countrymen when he spotted a haunting face.

‘WAIT!’ he cried out, rushing to grab the corpse away from the two soldiers.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ one of the men cocked an indignant eyebrow at him. ‘He’s just a stinking Hibee.’

Finn snarled, fury lighting up his eyes and teeth bared. The sight was enough to jolt the man back a step. ‘Ok, ok,’ he raised his hands up in surrender. ‘Take it, do whatever you want.’

The tension left his face but his eyes retained their sharpness, as he carefully placed the young man’s body over his shoulder. Stomping away from the main camp, he stopped only to grab a white sheet and shovel.

The digging was hard going by himself but after an hour or two, Finn had managed to carve out a plot large and deep enough to fit the corpse, all the while feeling as if he were being watched by the young man’s cold, white eyes. Finn had purposely not covered the man’s face, wanting his judgement to mark his soul.

Wiping his brow, he hopped out of the grave and retrieved the white sheet - it was only bed linen but it would do in place of a shroud. Gently, as if swaddling a newborn, Finn wrapped the young Hibernian’s body in the sheet, pausing as he made to cover the man’s freckled face. Finn’s fingers went to his shoulder, caressing the bandaged wound inflicted by the young man.

‘You wielded a dagger,’ he hushed out into the crisp morning air, a mist ghosting at his lips. His hand moved to his sword belt and removed his own dagger, polished and sharp, a fine weapon compared to the rusty implement that had dug into his shoulder. He placed the dagger at the man’s breast, pulling one limp arm up to cover it with a flat, cold palm. ‘You may take mine with you to the afterlife,’ he bowed his head, ‘as a token of my remorse.’

Tucking the rest of the shroud in, Finn carefully placed the man into the grave, making sure to face his head northward as was the ancient custom, before filling in the earth again. By the time he was through, he was worn out and sagged onto the ground on his knees, head bowed as he prayed to the old gods to watch over the young man’s soul. To Dagda, the father, that he may give the young man’s spirit strength, to Brighid, that she may use her flame to light his way and to Arawn, that he may judge his soul fairly.

He sat this way for some time, unaware of anything else around him until he felt a presence kneel on the ground beside him. Glancing sideward, he spied Ricochet looking solemnly at the fresh grave. He made no move to speak, respecting Finn’s need to pray but now that the Hibernian had done what he could for the man who’s young life he’d stolen away, he had to do what he could to save Seth from a similar fate.

‘Have they found him?’ he asked, barely holding out for a glimmer of hope.

‘The prisoner has spoken,’ Ricochet relayed, his voice soft and weary. ‘He has given the location of the rebel’s camp where he believes they are holding Officer Rollins prisoner.’

That’s all Finn needed to hear. Getting to his feet, he retrieved his spade and made to head back to camp, Ricochet by his side. ‘What are our orders?’

‘We will head out at dusk. Attack the rebels in the dead of night just like they did with us.’

Finn stopped. Turning two incredulous topaz eyes towards Ricochet, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘That’s madness,’ he spat, shaking his head. ‘The night attack worked for the Hibernians because they know these woods as well as I knew my mountains back home. The second we enter there, a hundred-odd men fumbling around in the dark, clanking away in full armour, they will hear us coming a mile away and abandon their camp for some hidden nook we will never find, taking Seth with them.’ Or worse, he thought but dared not say out loud.

‘It’s not the most…’ Ricochet fished for the most polite word, ‘… elegant of plans, but it’s what Field Commander Lashley has ordered.’

‘Then he needs to see reason,’ Finn’s eyes turned sharp.

Sensing the danger, Ricochet tried to catch Finn’s arm but the older man twisted out of his grasp and dashed off into the camp, the New-Worlder hot on his heels to try and stop him from doing something stupid.

‘Field Marshall Lashley,’ Finn called out as he entered Seth’s old tent, acting now as a meeting room for the officers. All eyes turned on the rookie with expressions of shock and outrage. ‘My apologies for interrupting your meeting, sir but I request a moment of your time.’

Lashley’s looked set to explode with rage at any second but Ricochet rushed and finally succeeded in grabbing hold of Finn’s arms.

‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ Ricochet tried to shove the Hibernian out of the tent. ‘He slipped by me but I will-‘

‘Your plan will not work!’ Finn yanked himself free from his friend’s grasp and strode forward towards the band of officers.

‘What did you say?’ Lashley snarled, as all of the other officers looked down their noses at Finn as if he were something that smelt foul.

‘Your plan to attack the rebel’s camp at night is flawed,’ Finn reiterated. ‘It will fail.’

‘And what do you know of it, rookie?’ It was Rush who came to Lashley’s defense, sneering at Finn as if he towered over the older man, even though Finn stood several inches taller than the aide. ‘You have been in our ranks, what, not even four months? And you dare to question a man who’s given years to the Red Army? Performed countless heroic feats in its name?’

‘I may not have the same accolades as the rest of you,’ Finn insisted, ignoring Rush’s outburst and focusing his gaze on Lashley, ‘but these rebels are my own countrymen with the same blood rushing through our veins. I understand how they think.’

‘HAH!’ Rush threw his head back and gave an obnoxious laugh. ‘You can’t even understand their language.’

‘That is the fault of The Cross, not mine!’ Finn snapped back without thinking. He realised his mistake the second his words spilled from his mouth. The crowd of officers began to furiously whisper amongst themselves while Rush’s hushed voice rose above them all.

‘Blasphemy,’ he hissed. ‘Field Marshall, you must hang this filthy traitor at once!’

‘Sir, please,’ Ricochet jumped into Finn’s defence, ‘it has been a testing night and the loss of our men has shaken this rookie, this being his first mission-‘

‘SILENCE!’ Lashley yelled and the tent fell still. The large, bald man leaned back in his chair, kneading the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, all eyes on him, awaiting his decision. ‘Hell’s teeth,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘what did I do to deserve this? One officer captured, another gravely injured… and here I am surrounded by imbeciles.’ Finally, he raised his head, his eyes falling on Finn, who despite knowing he had made an error, was still looking at him with hopeful defiance. Lashley could easily dispose of him, make an example of the Hibernian in order to get his other men to fall in line…

…but there had been enough bloodshed that night.

‘Be more mindful of your words, Infantryman,’ Lashley said to Finn, his voice a low growl in his throat. ‘They can be misconstrued.’ Finn saw the lifeline he was being handed and accepted it, nodding his head in acknowledgement. ‘As for the mission, it goes ahead. You and the rest of Officer Rollins’ men are to remain here at the campsite, is that understood?’ Finn’s face fell on hearing he wouldn’t even be involved in the rescue operation when Lashley abruptly rose to his feet in order to tower over the Hibernian. ‘IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?’ he roared down at the shorter man.

Finn replied with a half-hearted salute. ‘Understood, sir.’

‘Good, now get back to your post!’

Ricochet was ordered by Officer Black to escort Finn back, the pair walking side-by-side. Ricochet couldn’t help but notice how intensely taciturn the Hibernian was making the former mercenary nervous. As soon as they reached the tent shared by the spearman in Seth’s troop, Ricochet pulled the older man inside and grabbed his upper arms, forcing Finn to look him in the eye.

‘Listen to me,’ he hissed, his face stern but pleading, ‘whatever you are thinking, put it out of your mind.’ When Finn refused to reply, Ricochet shook him fiercely. ‘I get it, ok? I get that you’re scared and angry but these are our orders and we have to obey. You’ve already offended almost every superior officer and even though Lashley let you off the hook right now, who’s to say that-‘

‘I have a plan,’ Finn cut in, his voice so calm that it caught Ricochet off-guard in the middle of his scolding.

‘Finn… no…’ he shook his head but he could see the look in his friend’s eyes. The two orbs of sky-blue were as steady as a breezeless day. He had already made up his mind.

The least the New-Worlder could do was make sure the dumb rookie didn’t get himself killed in the process.

‘What would you have me do?’ he asked with a sigh of defeat. The corners of Finn’s mouth began to curl up into a small smile.

‘Gather up the rest of the boys,’ Finn ordered him, his gaze already receding into the distance as he began to plot out the necessary steps they needed to complete his plan. ‘Then go find the smiths. I need some chains.’

The spearman’s tent became a den of conspiracy as Finn laid out his plan to his friends. None of them were happy about the idea but Neville in particular was twitching with unease, nervously pacing the floor.

‘But Field Marshall Lashley gave us orders,’ he pointed out as he stumbled from one side of the tent to the other. ‘We are to remain here and guard the camp.’

‘He gave similar orders to those on patrol last night,’ Owens gruffed out, crossing his large arms over his barrel chest. ‘And what good did that do?’

‘Lashley’s control over the troop has been lax,’ Sami confessed, reducing his voice to a whisper so as not to be overheard by inquisitive ears outside their tent. ‘Had Corbin been in charge, he would have checked in with those on sentry duty and if any had been found away from their post, he would have hanged them on the spot. Lashley, on the other hand, never leaves the comfort of his tent. Let’s face it, day by day, the sentries began slacking off more and more and last night there was only a handful of them on duty – the rest were drinking their own weight in strong ale. The rebels slipped into the camp with ease.’

‘Lashley is proud,’ Finn put in his own two-coin. ‘He expects the men’s respect without actually earning it. And this mission he’s concocted is another example of his folly. I will not sit back and allow Seth to be killed because of that man’s arrogance.’

‘Do ye even hear yourselves?’ Neville waved his arms wildly at the three men. ‘You are talking treason. If anyone should find out, we will all be-‘

‘You don’t need to join us, Nev,’ Finn’s calm voice and soft smile cut Neville off. The Anglian looked over at the Hibernian, seeing the gentleness in his expression. ‘We would understand and we won’t hold it against you, I swear.’

Neville felt his guts twist and he knew in that instant he was part of this plot whether he liked it or not. ‘Howay, I won’t see you worky tickets running off and getting yourself killed.’

Finn gave an encouraging smile to the younger man as Ricochet came sneaking into the tent, checking behind him to make sure he hadn’t been seen or followed. ‘I got everything you needed, Finn,’ he said, passing a sack over to the Hibernian who opened it up to check inside.

‘Perfect,’ Finn nodded in approval as he spied the two sets of manacles. He pulled out an old, broken bridle and, borrowing Owens’ dagger, cut away a long length of leather strapping from it. ‘Who’s best at sewing?’ he asked. It was a skill every soldier of The Cross was taught in order to maintain their uniform but Finn had discovered he hadn’t the dexterity for the craft.

‘I’ll do it,’ Sami offered and took the strap from Finn, settling down in the corner with needle and thread, while Finn removed his basic armour piece-by-piece. Standing up, he walked over to Neville who was still pacing the floor.

‘Nev, I need you to hit me as hard as you can,’ Finn ordered the younger man who’s jaw dropped in horror.

‘I-I can’t do that!’ he spluttered.

‘Come on Nev,’ Finn smiled reassuringly to the Anglian, placing his hands on his shoulder. ‘We have to make this look good or else the rebels won’t believe it. Hit me on my face, chest, back, wherever you feel is natural, ok?’

‘Oh, ok,’ Neville nodded but his expression told Finn he was anything but happy about it. Finn stood back, eyes shut, waiting for the blow but only ended up throwing his head back in frustration at the pathetic first attempt of a punch from the Anglian.

‘Come on, Nev, I need bruises!’

‘I’ll do it,’ Owens strode over and shoved Neville out of the way. Finn gave the New-Frank a thankful look but felt his throat clench when he saw the larger man unbuckle his sword belt.

This was going to hurt!

Mid-afternoon and the day was already growing duller when Finn and his fellow conspirators slinked their way out of their tent, their preparations complete. Ricochet lead the way through the camp to the edge of the woods, keeping an eye out for any sentries or fellow soldiers who would become suspicious at seeing the five men wandering around without their basic armour on. Several times, they had to duck down and hide, their hearts thrumming in their chests as Ricochet warned them of incoming peril, but eventually the threat passed and they continued on their way. It was tense but the second they were all safely gathered in the shadows of the trees, they allowed themselves a moment of relief.

One danger was over with but the worst was yet to come.

The headed deeper into the woods, Ricochet guiding them on a map to where the captured rebel had revealed the enemy’s camp. The darkness crept in around them as dusk began to fall and they knew the clock was ticking – Lashley and his men would soon be preparing to leave and enact their night attack.

Neville stopped the party all of a sudden and pointed out a trap hidden in the foliage at their feet. Realising that the entire forest must be littered with such snares, they had Neville walk at Ricochet’s side in order to spot any more. Turned out Neville had a good eye for the tricks and guided the group to safety through the perilous forest.

Finally, as the night took a firm hold of the world, Ricochet crouched down, signalling that they had gone as far as they could. Finn had insisted that they hold back a mile or two from the rebel’s camp so that they may not be spotted. From now on, he would go on alone.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he silently prepared himself, removing his tunic and boots. Sami helped him apply the heavy chains to his wrists and ankles, locking the iron in place. The final touch was his homemade collar made from the leather strap. He clasped it around Finn’s neck.

‘How do I look?’ Finn asked, even though it felt obsolete in the darkness.

Sami looked unconvinced but an idea sprung to him and he gathered up fistfuls of dirt from the ground and began smearing it all over Finn’s face and body. Rubbing a final clump through Finn’s dark brown hair, he nodded his head in approval.

‘You’re ready.’

Finn licked his lower lip and sensing his friend’s nerves, Sami pulled him close to rest his forehead against his. ‘Barakallahu fiikum,’ he softly whispered under his breath so that only Finn could hear. The Hibernian didn’t know the meaning of the words but he understood their intentions as clear as a still pool.

Each man in turn offered their goodwill towards Finn, the whole affair feeling as if Finn was saying goodbye to his friends. He had to remind himself that he would see them again in a few short hours, if this plan of his worked out.

It had to work, he reminded himself. For Seth’s sake.

Standing up, he left the safety and comfort of his fellow soldiers and wandered into the woods, shackled, near naked and alone.

It took longer than Finn expected for the rebel scouts to find him. His whole body had jolted when he heard the sharp voice behind him ordering him to stop. Finn had frozen to the spot, raising up his chained hands in surrender, his whole body shaking from head to foot, forced to do nothing but watched as men armed with raised swords surrounded him.

‘Cad é seo?’ one of the men said in that tongue that was as foreign to him as that of Sami’s faith even though it was born in his own homeland. ‘Madra eile de chuid na Croise?’

‘Caitheann sé slabhraí,’ another noted, eyeing up the shackles on his wrists and ankles. Finn kept his tongue still, staring back at both men with abject fear. They were at least ten years older than him, he observed, hence how they still wielded the old Gaelic of Hibernia.

‘Who are you?’ the second man asked, looking Finn up and down suspiciously, his sword brandished menacingly at his side.

‘A fellow Hibernian, like yerselves,’ Finn thickened his accent to highlight his heritage. A glint of hope sparked in him as both men visibly reeled at the revelation. ‘Please, help me!’

The rebels shot each other a look, whispering to each other even though Finn could not understand them. After a small debate, they turned to face the shackled Hibernian again.

‘Come with us,’ the second man ordered, pointing for Finn to walk on as the pair flanked him on either side with their weapons poised. ‘Don’t try any funny business now, lad.’

Finn couldn’t stop the trembling that wracked his body as he was lead away into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve purposely left out any translations from this chapter to highlight how foreign the language of his own country sounds to Finn. If you’re really curious though, a quick Google Translate search will tell you :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of reunions and a rescue attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s taken so long to upload this chapter - things will be slower from now on but I’ll try my best to add updates whenever I can. Enjoy!

The rebel’s camp was a short distance away, hidden in a thick clump of trees that concealed even the bonfires raging all around the small enclosure. Finn would never have found it on his own and wondered how Lashley and his men would fare rooting it out later on. The thought of Lashley reminded him of his task and he turned his full focus back onto the mission at hand.

He was escorted through the camp to the largest of the fires where a group of men were seated. All around him, more faces manifested, each one fascinated by the shackled man being marched in by the two sentries. More than once they asked Finn’s guards questions that contained the words ‘na Croisse’, which Finn had figured out by now to mean The Cross. He grew worried that they had already seen through his disguise but considering he had not yet been ran through with one of those swords, he took comfort that they were still ignorant of his true intentions.

A hand on his bandaged shoulder forced him to stop and he winced at the roughness on his fresh stab wound when his attention was diverted by the man before him. The Hibernian he presumed to be the rebel leader was a giant of a being, similar in size to McIntyre, and just as muscular. His tunic had been shed, revealing large, broad shoulders and a chest lined with muscle. But what was most striking about the man was his hair. The fiery orange locks, in stark contrast to his pale skin – paler even than Finn’s – had been shaved at both sides and slicked up to mimic intimidating spikes down the middle of his scalp. His beard, matching in colour, had been divided into several short braids and a metal hoop dangled from his nostrils.

There was a look in the man’s eyes too; he was in a foul temper. Finn could easily deduce why, seeing as his thigh was bandaged tight and he was currently receiving the same treatment to a nasty wound underneath his arm. As the woman wrapping the bandage pulled on it, he let out a small grunt through his pursed lips. He must have been in an extraordinary amount of pain.

Finn thought it wise to stay on this man’s good side and respectfully bowed his head as he was brought before him, the leader’s blue-green eyes looking Finn all over skeptically.

‘Cé hé seo?’ he asked of the men who had escorted Finn in.

‘Fuaireamar é sa choill,’ one of them replied. ‘Deir sé gur Hibernian é.’

Finn knew that word and felt a shudder rocket up his spine as the leader turned his gaze back on him. He was trying to decide whether Finn was genuine or an enemy in disguise.

‘Is tú Hibernian?’ the fiery haired man asked him directly, his voice low with threat.

Finn deduced what he was asking. ‘Aye, I am Hibernian,’ he replied. The large man scoffed suddenly, leaving Finn to wonder what he had said to offend him.

‘You do not speak the Gaelic tongue?’ he asked, his nostrils flaring with disgust.

Finn shook his head dejectedly. ‘I do not,’ he answered meekly. ‘I was a babe when the Old Tongue was forbidden by the invaders.’

Finn’s use of ‘the invaders’ instead of ‘The Cross’ worked wonders. Already he could see those sharp hazel eyes of the giant softening. ‘Who are you? Why are you in chains?’

‘My name is Finn Bálor,’ the shackled Hibernian explained, hoping against hope that nobody had heard his name before. ‘I was taken prisoner by The Cross just over a year ago. They killed my stepfather in front of my eyes and took me away in chains to torment however they pleased. When my first master grew bored with me, he gave me to his troops and I serve them to this day as a lowly slave.’

The one piece of advice he’d always kept from his childhood days with the travelling troupe was from an older boy in his late teens. The young man was particularly sneaky, known as a proficient liar, able to get away with murder they reckoned if he was so inclined. He had once turned to a young Finn and told him that the best lies were almost entirely made up of truths with a little bit of deceit thrown in. Considering his current predicament, Finn prayed that that advice had not been a concoction of falsehoods too.

It was hard to judge the rock hard expression on the fiery haired man’s face. ‘What happened t’your shoulder?’ he simply asked, moving on.

‘Their latest game,’ Finn replied, adding a bitterness to his tone. ‘Those swine enjoy torturing me. See these marks on my back? It’s where one of them struck me with his belt because I burnt the stew. And the scars between my fingers? Where they practiced their torture methods. They tell me I am too head-strong and need broken in.’

‘A year in captivity and you still defy them?’ one of the giant’s orange eyebrows rose cynically.

‘I will not deny there have been dark days,’ Finn replied, lowering his head. This time, it took no deceit to tell his tale. ‘Days where I felt I could take no more, where I would rather die than endure any more punishment, but I refused to give those bastards the satisfaction.’

Finn had no idea if any of this was working; the leader’s face was as hard as granite. It scared him, reminding him too much of Corbin. ‘How did you escape?’

‘I have your men to thank for that,’ Finn thought on his feet. ‘There was so much chaos during the attack last night that I managed to slip away. I’ve been trying to find you since then, in the hope that I may join you in your noble crusade.’

The large man snorted and Finn’s fear began to rise. ‘Your flattery will not pull the wool over our eyes,’ the fiery haired man snarled, staggering to his feet while clutching the bandaged wound at his side. He reached down to the ground at his side and picked up a claymore the size of which Finn had only faced once, during his final exam with McIntyre. He had felt its bite once, the two silver scars on his thigh and upper arm were proof of that, but those were mere nibbles. He had a feeling the giant intended to cleave him in half with the mighty weapon.

‘Know what I t’ink,’ the fiery haired man paced towards him, dragging the sharpened tip of the claymore across the ground, leaving a long, thin cavity in its wake. ‘I ‘tink this is all too convenient. We take their King’s favourite and suddenly we have a chained prisoner of theirs wandering into our camp?’

‘I’m telling the truth,’ Finn implored, his topaz eyes never leaving the mammoth blade of steel as it grew ever closer.

‘I t’ink those mucha have sunk to new lows,’ the man was right in front of him now and Finn craned his neck to look up into the giant’s blue-green eyes, seeing the anger raging through them. ‘Hiring our own countrymen and turning them against us.’

Finn jumped as the tip of the blade was poised over his stomach, the sharpened edge prodding into his pale skin with deadly intent.

‘Look at you,’ the giant growled, unsympathetic to the trembling man before him. ‘You are no slave. You are well fed and healthy. You look t’me more like a soldier.’

Finn felt the control slipping through his fingers like sand. The crowd around him was growing angry, agreeing with their leader’s deductions. He knew his time would soon be up and he braced himself to feel the claymore rip through his ribcage at any second.

‘WAIT!’

Finn’s pounding heart turned feverish, the colour draining from his face.

He knew that voice!

And like a ghost, she appeared. Her hair burning bright in the light of the campfire.

‘B-Becky?’ Finn stammered.

The young woman rushed towards him and threw her arms around his shoulders. Finn didn’t even wince at the contact on his stab wound, the shock stupefying his entire body. ‘Is it really you?’ he asked, his voice choking in his throat.

She pulled back and placed both hands on his cheeks, looking deep into him as if scared her eyes were deceiving her too. ‘It’s really me,’ she assured him, ‘and it’s really you. The gods be praised, I never thought I’d see you again.’

‘And I you,’ Finn blurted out.

The touching reunion was interrupted by a gruff grunt from the rebel leader. ‘You know this man, Becky?’ he asked her, his tone still laced with skepticism.

‘I do, Sheamus,’ she replied, the smile brimming on her lips. She turned towards him and the smile vanished, a fierce expression taking over. ‘Put your weapon away, eedjit,’ she scolded the much large man, ‘there’s no need of it. This man before you has suffered more than most of us here. I know because I bore witness to it.’ She gently grabbed Finn’s hand, pushing back the iron shackles to reveal the scars between his fingers. ‘I bound these very hands after Baron Corbin himself had spent a night torturing him, I rubbed balm on the bruises that cruel man would inflict for the most minor of crimes.’ She looked deep into Finn’s eyes in apology for what she was about to say. ‘I watch him writhe in agony, reduced to limping, because he had been used as nothing more than a whore.’

Finn felt a sting of betrayal that she would reveal the darkest details of his past. Yet he understood why. Already the atmosphere around them had changed from growing anger and bloodlust to one of admonished guilt. Many of the men who had called for the rebel leader – Sheamus he now knew to be his name – to run him through couldn’t even look him in the eye.

‘You seek revenge for your murdered father and raped mother,’ Becky turned towards Sheamus now, her face softening as the larger man clenched and unclenched his fists. Finn felt a pang of sorrow for the man with fiery hair. ‘How can you feel such rage for her suffering then turn around and ignore his?’

Hazel eyes rose to meet topaz. For a while the pair lingered, looking deep down into each other’s soul.

With a heavy sigh, Sheamus sheathed his claymore.

He lumbered up to Finn, the smaller man taking a step back in fear that only heightened when the large man placed a titanic hand at the back of his head, but when he pulled their foreheads together, he realised this was an attempt at peace between them.

‘Please forgive me,’ Finn heard Sheamus whisper to him. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘You have every right to mistrust me,’ Finn replied, feeling guilt well up inside him that he was actively lying to his fellow countryman.

‘Still, I should have listened and judged you more fairly.’ The fiery haired man pulled back and offered a small, lop-sided smile. Finn returned the gesture tentatively, the shaking not quite leaving his body. ‘The poor fella is frozen solid,’ Sheamus noted out-loud. ‘McCarthy, see what you can do about removing those chains, and Becky,’ his voice turned soft as he addressed the former maid. For some unknown reason, Finn found he resented that tone and even more so the look exchanged between the two. ‘I can entrust him to your care?’

She didn’t need to reply verbally; the smile on her face told the rebel leader she was more than up to the task.

Walking up to Finn, she lifted her arms to unbuckle the make-shift collar at his neck, removing the old strap and throwing it into the fire.

‘You’re free, Finn,’ she beamed at him.

The weight of guilt bore down harder inside of him.

‘Knock knock,’ Becky called from the door of the tent. ‘Can I come in?’

Finn smiled as he appeared behind the screen, rubbing himself down with a dry rag. ‘You don’t need to ask, this is your tent after all.’

‘I didn’t want to seem like I was stealing a peek if you were indecent.’

Finn laughed. ‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?’

‘Right,’ she replied with a tilt of her head, her eyes drifting over him. ‘You look better already,’ she noted with glee. ‘A bath can do wonders.’

‘You haven’t lost your touch,’ Finn batted the compliment back to her. ‘Even out here in the wilderness you can still make the water hot.’

‘Made of fire, remember?’ she teased, raising her index finger in front of her. ‘All I have to do is dip my finger into the tub and the water just about boils over.’ The pair shared a laugh and it was as if they had never been apart, all those months of distance nothing but a memory. Finn suddenly remembered how much he had enjoyed being in the younger woman’s company.

When the amusement had simmerd down, Becky remembered the bundle she held in his other hand and passed it over. ‘I hope it all fits,’ she said, as Finn examined the plain tunic and breeches. ‘It’s all I could find.’

‘They will be perfect,’ he assured her and proceeded to dress, starting with his breeches. He only managed to get one foot in when Becky placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

‘You don’t have to wear that anymore,’ she told him, her voice a low whisper of contempt as she pointed to the subligaculum around his pelvis. ‘Take it off and I’ll burn the damned thing in the fire.’

Finn felt his cheeks flush with shame. The silk he wore, much like his hair and the old wound on his shoulder, were the only scars still left by Corbin, but all ones he embraced now.

Because Seth loved them.

His heart twisted when he thought of Seth and the real reason he had come to the camp.

He felt even worse when he had to look into Becky’s eyes and lie right to her when all she had done was show him kindness and friendship.

‘If it’s alright with you,’ he replied, unable to lift his blue eyes from the floor. Fortunately he didn’t have to think of an excuse as Becky read his discomfort.

‘It’ ok if it’s too soon,’ she hushed, placing her warm hand on his shoulder. He heard her take in a sharp breath and glanced sideways at her, seeing her face twist with sorrow as she spied the wounds on his back. ‘It’ll take time, Finn but we’ll mend you. Piece by piece, we will put you back together and all those cruel things they did to you will be forgotten.’ She returned her glance towards him, smiling so tenderly that it made his chest ache. ‘You’re safe now.’

He hurried to pull on the rest of his clothing, wanting to hide the false bruises on his skin.

‘Are you hungry?’ she asked, making her way to the door of the tent again. ‘I’ll go find us something to eat.’

Finn did not need to pretend he was famished; after several hours of hard digging and missing his mid-day meal he was starved and he tore into the freshly cooked rabbit with fervour. Becky watched on with delight.

‘I still can’t believe you’re really here,’ she shook her head, her wild untamed locks bouncing with the movement. It was the first time Finn had seen her without her wimple, and he stared in awe at the stunning mass of wavy strands, each one kissed by fire that burned bright in the glow of the torches. Gone also was the simple, modest dress of grey, replaced with a rustic tunic, brought in at the bust with a leather corset and what appeared to be a pair of boy’s short breeches. She looked like a warrior of the old tales, he mused to himself.

She looked more… like herself.

‘I can’t believe you’re here either,’ Finn said after politely swallowing down his meat. ‘The few times I left the confines of the castle I looked for you. Searched down every backstreet and alley we passed, checked the faces of each passer-by in the hopes that I might see you among them.’ That was no word of a lie. Ever since he’d been freed from Corbin’s custody, he had actively searched for the young woman, every time coming up empty. ‘How did you end up here?’

‘That was sweet of you to look for me,’ she replied with a blush on her cheek, ‘but no matter how hard you searched it would have been in vain. I left Dubhlinn shortly after I was dismissed from Corbin’s staff.’ She lifted her eyes to meet Finn’s, her focus soon shifting slightly to the side. She raised one slender arm to trail the back of her fingers across the bruises on his face. ‘After seeing what they did to you, I knew I could never serve them again.’

Finn gulped, feeling something stir in his stomach at his touch, immediately followed by a pang of remorse, although he didn’t know if it was the guilt of lying to Becky or feeling this way with her when his heart belonged to Seth. There was no denying that he harboured deep feelings indeed for the flame-haired woman. Both she and Seth had been his guiding lights at one point, keeping him safely away from the darkness.

‘Becky,’ Finn began, his voice turning hoarse, ‘what happened with Corbin… I’m so sorry that-‘

‘Don’t be,’ she cut him off, lifting her chin proudly. ‘Dismissing me was the best thing that could have happened.’ Her gaze returned to his. He could see the flames dancing in her brown eyes. ‘It freed me. No longer would I have to beg on my knees, whining out ‘yes, m’lord, t’ank ye, m’lord’ like some simpering eedjit. I could be whoever I wanted to be - I could unleash my inner warrior.

‘An old friend of mine from the streets told me about the rebellion stirring in the north. We both ran away to join them. Unlike the arrogant mucha of the Cross, they welcomed anyone into their ranks, including women. Turns out I’m rather ferocious with a sword in my hand, so much so that they all started calling me ‘The Man’.’

Finn smiled, beaming with pride for his friend. ‘They’re also teaching you the Old Tongue, it seems,’ he noted.

‘I’ve picked up words here and there,’ she admitted, although there was disappointment written across her face. ‘I’m nowhere near as fluent as the others though.’

‘They’re all much older than me, let alone you,’ Finn reminded her. ‘They would have been raised speaking the tongue. Don’t punish yourself for being a victim of your circumstances.’

The edges of Becky’s lips curled. ‘You were always the voice of reason,’ she said, her tone laced with nostalgia. ‘Itenraged me that scum Corbin saw nothing in you but your looks.’ She leaned forward suddenly, grabbing both of his hands, his wrists having been freed from the shackles by one of Sheamus’ men. ‘You have so much potential in you, Finn and now you have the chance to use it. With you helping to guide us, we will take back our land from these X-Wielders, purge the plague from our shores.’

Finn didn’t know what to say. This was all so confusing and raw for him. Ever since he had spied the face of the young man he had needlessly killed, he had been asking himself the same question over and over again.

How had he become the enemy?

When he had joined the Red Army, it had been purely about his means of escaping slavery, he had done everything in his power to achieve it, never once thinking of the consequences of his actions; that he would become a pawn of The Cross and be forced to face his fellow Hibernians. Had Corbin not stolen him away, had fate worked differently in his favour, who’s to say that he would have fought at Becky and that young man, Ciaran’s, side, to fight off the invaders who had stolen their country, their culture, their very liberty away from them?

And now that opportunity lay before him and all he had to do was reach out and seize it.

But then... there was Seth…

He felt very dizzy all of a sudden. Becky, seeing his plight, cupped his bearded cheek with her hand to support him and placed a cup of ale to his lips. He drank it down, feeling it chase the stupor away but not his predicament.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as he regained his equilibrium. ‘I know this is a lot to take in and I shouldn’t have thrust it on you so soon. Not when you’ve only just escaped over a year spent in captivity.’

Finn didn’t answer, feeling a headache take over from the dizziness.

‘You’re worn out, poor thing,’ he heard Becky coo. ‘Take my bunk tonight.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ he shook his head, his stubborn politeness unwavering even while in the middle of a nervous breakdown. ‘Where would you sleep?’

Becky took a while to reply, in the end only shrugging one shoulder and absentmindedly muttering ‘I’m sure I’ll find somewhere’. Despite her seemingly off-handed reply, she wasn’t taking no for an answer and even when Finn tried to protest, she firmly took his hand and drew him towards the bed at the rear of the tent, settling him down on a pelt made of rabbit fur and hand-knitted blankets.

‘Try to rest,’ she smiled softly down at the blue-eyed man as he covered him with the thickest of the blankets, tucking it in around him like a mother would to her infant child. ‘Remember, you are safe now.’

Becky had only been gone half an hour when Finn reluctantly pulled himself out of the warm bunk.

The hour was drawing near to when Lashley and his men would unleash their attack and he knew it was now or never to unleash the final phase of his plan. He looked down one last time as the blanket in his hand, the wool worn and bobbled. There was something comforting about it, almost familiar. A warmth that reminded him of home. With a heavy sigh, he released it from his grip, watching as it sagged into a heap.

Slipping away from his tent, he silently crept between the raggedy structures of the rebel camp, peeking into each one in the hope of finding where they were keeping their prisoner.

An overwhelming urge to find Seth had taken over him. It wasn’t just the necessity of rescuing him before the Red Army swarmed down on them, or the fear that his lover was suffering while he delayed, but something even stronger. After speaking to Becky, he felt lost, as if he was hurtling round and round a vicious whirlpool and he needed to find his anchor, the man who had kept him steady all these months, so that he may cling to him or else be swept away. He needed to feel the heat of Seth’s body, needed to taste his apple lips, needed to hear the deep thrum of his voice as much as he needed air to breath and water to hydrate.

Discovering a solitary tent in the centre of the camp with a guard standing at its entrance, Finn knew he’d found his prize. Slinking to the back, he produced the knife Becky had given him to carve his meat earlier and used it to tear a small hole in the worn fabric of the tent. Prizing the hole apart with two fingers, he spied inside, relief washing over him when he saw it was empty save for one figure.

A figure that threatened to steal his very breath away.

It took no time for him to rip the hole further, making it large enough for him to sneak inside and he rushed towards the single inhabitant of the tent. The prisoner jumped a mile as Finn cupped both of his cheeks and planted a passionate kiss on his lips, his topaz eyes open to drink in the shock of the other man’s dark brown orbs.

Even when the recognition hit Seth and Finn felt it safe enough to remove his lips, the large doe eyes didn’t soften, both of them wide with abject wonder and confusion.

‘F-Finn?’ Seth’s voice caught in his throat. ‘What are you doing here? How?’

‘You broke my chains,’ Finn beamed at him, feeling all the burdens lift from his body, leaving him as light as air, ‘now I will break yours.’

‘You-you shouldn’t be here,’ Seth whimpered out, suddenly afraid. ‘If they catch you, they will show you no mercy.’

‘And if they hurt you, I would show myself none either.’ Finn scanned his lover’s face, searching for any signs of injury. He noted the cut across the bridge of Seth’s nose, the dried blood sticking to his upper lip and jaw. ‘Are you ok? Did they-?’

‘They roughed me up a bit,’ Seth confessed, unable to keep the smile from his face. ‘But the worst was done in the fight when they took me. My knee-‘

The pair clammed up, holding their breaths as the guard at the entrance of the tent shifted his stance. It turned out to be a false alarm but brought them both crashing back to their perilous situation.

‘We need to get out of here now,’ Finn hushed out, rushing behind Seth in order to slash the rope that bound him to the post. ‘Lashley will be here any minute.’

‘They’re planning an ambush?’ Seth asked, incredulously, as he felt his hands released from their bonds, rubbing the skin of his wrists where the rope had burned its mark. ‘Have they lost their minds?’

‘They lost their best mind,’ Finn teased as he returned into Seth’s vision and poked the New Worlder in the middle of his forehead, playfully. ‘Come on, let’s go before-‘

‘Wait,’ Seth softly called and yanked Finn back down to his level and captured Finn’s lips in a searing kiss. Finn felt himself go weak as Seth’s lips parted and the sweet tang of cider flowed into him. He almost mewled when Seth parted from him, his head swimming with growing lust.

‘You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now,’ Seth smiled gratefully at him, his hand squeezing Finn’s weathered digits tightly, never wanting to let go.

‘I must have come too late,’ Finn pulled himself back to their present predicament against his wishes. ‘They have tortured you so severely that you have lost your senses.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Seth pouted, making Finn bubble with silent laughter.

It took a great effort to haul Seth up onto his feet, his wounded knee buckling instantly. Seth forced down the cry of anguish that seared up his throat but Finn heard it all the same and pulled his lover’s arm around his shoulders, steadying him with a sturdy hand upon his waist to allow Seth to lean his full weight onto the Hibernian’s side. By the time they reached the hole at the back of the tent, they had worked out a rhythm and together they disappeared through the gap and into the dark recesses of the rebel camp.

Both men were so close to each other that they could sense the other’s fear. Hear it in each of their tight breaths, smell the sweat that clung to their brow, feel the other’s heart pounding against their rib cages. Every single sound heightened their panic, each snap of a twig or crack of a dying ember, caused the pair to startle and stop, afraid to even breath in case it gave their position away. As a result, their process through the shadows of the enemy’s camp was eye-wateringly slow.

Seth’s feet had none of that assassin tread that Finn’s did but with one knee wounded and the other having to hobble under most of his body weight, he felt as if he may as well be banging the side of a metal cauldron with a ladle, declaring to the dozens of foes around them ‘here we are, come and get us!’ Fortunately, most of the rebels had either retired to their bunks or were patrolling the woods around the camp, leaving their path out of the camp void of any sign of life.

That was, until the figure suddenly emerged from the tent directly to their left. Before Seth could holler out a warning, Finn had released his grip on him in order to subdue the intruder. Seth, his crutch suddenly gone, automatically placed his weight onto his bad knee and felt the pain shoot through him like a bolt of lightening. He pursed his lips to muffle his scream of pain, grabbing wildly around him and found a sturdy tent pole for support, leaning against it with white knuckles as he recalibrated his body back onto his good leg.

Only once he had regained himself did he glance over at Finn, finding him with a young woman in his clutches, her arm twisted behind her back and his palm clamped over her face. He looked over at Seth with skin two tones paler than normal, his topaz eyes wide and panicked.

‘Get to the woods.’ His tone was hushed but there was no denying the authority in his voice. ‘Go! Now!’

‘What about you?’ Seth protested, feeling more than a little afraid himself.

‘I’ll be right behind you,’ he replied. The woman in his grasp tried to squirm loose but Finn reapplied his grip. ‘Go!’

‘No!’

That wasn’t good enough for Seth. He had already been ripped away from his lover once, he would not allow it again.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ Finn spat out when his eyes fell on the tent the woman had just appeared from. ‘Is anyone in there?’ he asked her. When she refused to answer, he shook her slightly but did not, Seth noted, twist her arm any higher up her back. ‘Answer me!’ She finally relented and shook her head. Finn ducked down to enter the tent, pulling the woman in with him. Seth scanned around to make sure the scuffle had not been noticed before slinking inside too.

He found the woman struggling fiercely against Finn’s grip, the older man trying to calm her down. ‘Becky, it’s only me,’ he cooed, his voice now soft but anxious. ‘Becky please, I – oof!’

Finn stumbled back as the redhead struck him viciously in the ribs with her elbow. Now free of Finn’s grasp, she spun around and punched him square in the jaw, the blow giving out a nasty crack and Finn’s head snapped to the side. Seth watched as the young woman retreated several paces away in order to take in the sight of both men, her face lining with horror as she spied Rollins free of his bonds.

‘How did you-?’ she gasped at the New Worlder before turning back to Finn. ‘Did you-?’ Her face twisted as she put the pieces together. ‘You played us.’ Her words were a heartbreaking rendition of betrayal and anger and they were directed straight at Finn who’s own face displayed his anguish at his deceit, his fingers rubbing at his jaw where already the skin was turning a bright scarlet.

‘Becky, listen to me, we don’t have much time.’ He took a step towards her but she retreated away from him. It was then that Seth finally clicked on where he had seen this woman before. She had worked for Corbin and Finn spoke of her often. She had been one of only two friends he had come to rely on during his time in captivity. But why was she here?

‘So Sheamus was right,’ Becky spat venom at the dark-haired Hibernian. ‘You do work for The Cross.’

‘I do,’ Finn had no reason to lie to her further and Seth could only watch as the young woman’s face fell with sorrow. ‘Three months ago, I had the chance to break my chains by becoming a soldier. The man before you gave me that chance.’ He raised an arm in Seth’s direction, the New Worlder feeling even more uncomfortable than before. ‘I owe him a great debt and I couldn’t see him be tortured and killed by the enemy.’

‘The enemy?’ Becky snarled, her fiery hair tumbling over her irate features.

Finn didn’t appear to have heard her. ‘But all the same, I owe a debt to you too. Becky, you must leave here right away. Any minute now, my people will be here and they will-‘

‘Your people?’ Becky rushed forward and slammed her palms into Finn’s chest. He took a step backwards but didn’t stumble. ‘Finn, these are your people. They are your own countrymen, your own flesh and blood. They,’ she pointed an accusing finger across at Seth, ‘are the enemy. Foreigners who came into our lands and stole them away from us, told us how to live. Expect us to bend and scrape to their will. You and I spoke of this so many times.’

‘Becky, please!’ Seth felt his heart wrench at the emotion in Finn’s voice as he took both of the woman’s pale hands into his own weathered ones. ‘Please listen to me. Leave now while you still can. I can’t stand the idea of losing you.’

The redhead wriggled out of his grip like a feral cat. ‘Go,’ she hissed at him, shooting Seth one final look of pure poison. ‘Take your fecking muc wit’cha.’ Her last glare was reserved for Finn and it was brimming with unchecked wrath. ‘I never want to see your lying face ever again or I will run my sword right through your heart.’

A quick glimpse in Finn’s direction told Seth that she had already completed the grisly deed with her words alone. With head bowed, Finn turned to leave, pulling Seth’s arm over his shoulders again. Seth looked over to the young woman one last time, saw the tears glistening in her eyes before the pair exited the tent.

Once outside, Seth felt Finn’s whole body turn stiff and rigid. Seth squeezed his lover’s shoulder tenderly and in reply Finn engulfed Seth’s hand in his own weathered digits, gripping fast as if Seth’s touch was like a lifeline he sorely needed to survive. Not once did that vice-like grip falter as they crept through the remainder of the campsite and into the woods, nor did it loosen as they retreated further and further away from danger. Only once they discovered Finn’s small band of friends waiting for them, did Finn’s hand drop from Seth’s, leaving nothing but red imprints on the New Worlder’s tanned skin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn does a lot of socialising

Finn wasn’t at all surprised to see Lashley barging into Seth’s tent with a look of complete indignation on his face, nor was he surprised to hear that the night attack had been unsuccessful – the rebels had disappeared from their camp before the Red Army had arrived. He was, however, surprised that Lashley did not take him aside and punish him for breaking his orders.

Instead, the large man took a knee at Seth’s side, placed a hand on his shoulder and welcomed him back, told him to rest and they would talk late that day. The only acknowledgement he gave to Finn was a single look, not one of menace like it usually was but softer, and then departed, leaving Finn and Sami to tend to their superior as before.

Finn had a strong feeling however, that he had only a momentary reprieve from his sentence.

That afternoon, the Red Army packed up their camp in preparation for the journey home. Before the left, they lit the pyres and prayed for the friends they had lost. Seth had refused to stay in his tent during the proceedings, insisting that he had to attend in order to honour Apollo. The man who had served him, called a dear friend, who had fought alongside him for so long, had died trying to protect him. The least Seth could do was pray so that his soul may safely journey to the afterlife.

Finn and his friends had helped their superior into one of the carts, propping the man with the golden streak in his hair against a sack of spare uniforms and manoeuvred the vehicle so that it bore a good view of the fire. Seth had watched the flames rise, tears in his eyes as he mourned his friend who had died far too young. The pyre was still burning bright when the troop left the site, their bearing headed back to Dubhlinn.

The distance not being great, they marched on through the rest of the last of the day and the hours of night, reaching their destination just before the dawn. Finn and his friends lifted Seth from the cart he had travelled on and carried the young officer to his bunk, Finn offering to keep watch over him that day. The dark-haired Hibernian looked on with concern as Seth was tended to by the healer, breathing a sigh of relief on hearing that his wounded knee would heal; it just needed several months of rest and recuperation. Seth, however, did not welcome the news.

‘I am now to become a prisoner of my own chambers,’ he huffed after Finn had shown the healer out.

‘Only for a month or so then you will be allowed light exercise to strengthen it again,’ Finn pointed out. ‘It will fly past.’

‘It will, if you were to come here and keep me warm,’ Seth tried to coax the blue-eyed man into his sheets, a lustful grin on his face as Finn walked towards him but the Hibernian only placed a soft kiss on his brow.

‘You were ordered to rest,’ he reminded his lover with a grin. ‘The moment I curl up in there with you, rest will be far from your mind.’

Seth pouted like a petulant child. ‘At least lie with me?’ he whimpered, looking up at Finn with those impossibly large eyes of his. Finn shook his head but finally caved in, lying on top of Seth’s sheets, fully dressed and allowed the New Worlder to curl into his side while Finn hooked an arm around his shoulders.

‘I’m so relieved you’re safe,’ Finn whispered into Seth’s hair, the long locks fluffy against his lips. ‘For a time there, I was terrified that I’d lost you. It tore me up inside.’

‘Me too,’ Seth hushed back, cuddling into Finn’s side even more. ‘I was so afraid, Finn, not for my own life so much but for the fear that I would be ripped away from you forever. All I wanted was to see your face again, feel your lips upon mine.’ He reached up to capture Finn’s lips, groaning softly at the sweetness. ‘Never though in my wildest dreams that I would taste them again so soon.’

‘I couldn’t just sit and do nothing,’ Finn argued, his face turning hard. ‘Especially not when I heard ofLashley’s rash i ntentions.’

‘Speaking of Lashley,’ Seth turned his eyes towards his lover, apprehension evident in the quiver of his thick lashes, ‘he will be furious that you defied your orders. He will punish you.’

‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Finn replied with a simply shrug of his shoulders. ‘But come what may, I know one thing to be true.’ Looking down at his lover, he lifted Seth’s bearded chin to place another soft kiss on his lips. ‘I would do it all again in a heartbeat.’

It was Ricochet who came for Finn, informing the Hibernian that Lashley had summoned him and that he would take over to keep an eye on Officer Rollins. Seth could only give Finn a wary look to wish him luck before he watched his lover leave to hear to face his fate alone.

Finn was used to the feeling by now.

And honestly, facing an irate Lashley did not scare him in the slightest. Nothing would ever compare to being escorted to Corbin’s bedchamber that first night of his captivity. Nothing except perhaps the moment he had learnt Seth had been taken away by the enemy.

He stopped outside Lashley’s private office and knocked on the door, the voice of his commander allowing him inside. Lashley was seated at his desk, scribbling away on parchment that he swiftly shoved aside as the Hibernian entered the room and gave a respectful salute.

‘At ease, Infantryman Bálor.’ Finn was caught slightly off-guard. Not so much by the softness of Lashley’s tone, or the lack of a thorough chastising right away but rather by the fact that Lashley had used his name for the first time since taking command. ‘Please, sit.’

Nodding, Finn pulled over a high-backed wooden chair and sat opposite the large man with his head bowed slightly.

‘I owe you an apology.’ Finn head jerked up abruptly. ‘You were expecting something different?’ Lashley asked the Hibernian.

‘I was expecting a punishment, sir,’ Finn replied. ‘I interrupted an officer’s meeting, questioned your strategies and intentionally broke your direct order.’

‘That is true,’ Lashley said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. ‘But, from what I hear, you also saved the lives of not one, but two of your commanding officers.’ Finn saw something appear on the large man’s face that he had never seen before in all the time he had known him. The man actually smiled. It made his face much gentler, more handsome even. ‘Your intuition about the rebels was also spot-on. Their scouts spotted my men easily and they all escaped further into the woods. I had my best trackers try to trace their whereabouts but they could not find head nor tail of them. At the time I believe they had taken Officer Rollins with them…’ Lashley shook his head, the smile faltering for a second until he glanced Finn’s way and the gentle grin returned. ‘You can imagine my relief when I returned to camp to hear he was safe and recovering well in his tent.’

Finn kept his mouth shut, a trait he’d wished he’d employed more back at the camp.

‘Then I hear you were the man responsible for his rescue. That was quick thinking on your part, pretending to be an escaped prisoner to gain their trust. Excellent tactic.’ There was a texture to Lashley’s tone, something like regret, as if he wished he possessed the strategic ability that came naturally to Finn. ‘Then, later that day, McIntyre tells me that you were the one who single-handedly saved him from the fire. Even his own aide, Ziggler ran off and left him to perish – a deed that, believe me, if that little weasel ever shows his face again, he will hang for.’

Finn was at a loss. Hearing all of these kind words from his superior was spinning his head and he wasn’t sure how he was meant to react. Being praised like this would be far easier if he had the ego of Rush or the confidence of Ricochet but he was a low-born farmer’s boy who’s spent the past year serving as a miserable slave. How could he be considered for such high acclaim?

‘The past few days, you have truly proven your skillset,’ Lashley went on, his words enough to bring a blush to Finn’s cheeks. ‘You have shown courage, intelligence, resourcefulness - all attributes of a fine soldier. But above all, you have shown your loyalty, putting your own welfare aside for the sake of your superiors, even if that meant breaking a few rules.’ At this, Lashley looked down, his thumbs began to twiddle nervously. ‘I only wish that we too can work on creating such a bond. You… do not trust my judgment, do you?’

Finn felt cornered, as if this was a trick. Lashley sensed his unease.

‘Speak freely, Infantryman Bálor, you will not be punished for telling me what’s on your mind.’

Finn paused, the way he always did when he needed a little time to straighten out his thoughts. ‘Sir,’ he began, rubbing his tongue over his lips, ‘I believe you have big boots to fill.’ Lashley nodded, clearly he already knew this but it was a relief hearing someone else speak his own thoughts. ‘Don’t mistake me, I have no love for my former master but from what I heard, as a commander, he was well thought of. Ruthless, even when it came to his own men.’

‘You think I go too easy on them?’ Lashley asked and Finn began to wonder when he had become the advisor to the Field Commander himself.

‘Perhaps,’ Finn replied, cocking his head to the side in thought. ‘But I don’t think the answer is to start lashing out. Corbin instilled fear amongst his own men. He was very good at it. I was his closest recipient and he instilled in me fear that I still feel to this very day, that I will probably feel for the rest of my life.’ He paused, trying to steel himself from his traumatic past. ‘But you, sir, have the chance to emulate something greater. Something even more potent that fear.’ He looked up to lock eyes with the large man. ‘Respect.’

Lashley leaned in closer, intrigued. ‘And how do I get the men to respect me?’ he asked. He sounded lost, desperate even and Finn couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest that the man was so clueless. How much of the moroseness was a front for this man, a mask to hide away his own insecurities?

‘You have to earn it,’ Finn told him, forcefully. ‘Try not to hide away in your chambers as much, get out amongst the men, learn their names. Fight alongside them, show them what you are capable of. No man rises as high as you have in this army without good reason, especially, from what I’ve heard from Infantryman Mann, a man with your skin tone. If they see you fighting for them, then they will fight for you.’

Lashley leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palm across his bald head. ‘I guess I have grown complacent,’ he sighed. ‘Thank you Infantryman Bálor. I will take what you said under advisement.’

‘That means a great deal to me, sir,’ Finn lowered his head, humbly.

‘Now, I know you’ve been by Officer Rollins’ side since you returned from your rescue mission,’ Lashley said. ‘But I am ordering you to take a night off. Go eat, have a glass of ale, sleep. It’s the least you deserve.’

‘Thank you very much, sir,’ Finn said, getting to his feet and giving a crisp salute. He returned the chair to the side of the room and made to leave when Lashley’s voice halted him.

‘And Infantryman Bálor, if I should have further use of your consul, can I rely on you to give it?’

Finn turned around, his lips parting slightly. ‘I am at your disposal, sir.’

Fatigue hit Finn like a boulder from a trebuchet and yet he forced his drooping eyelids to remain open so that Neville could continue his outpouring to him. He had returned home earlier that day, chest stuffed with pride at his hand in the successful rescue mission of Seth and had hoped to use it to curry favour with Caoimhe, but the maid was still giving him the cold shoulder as before.

‘I just don’t understand why,’ he sulked, thrusting his chin into his palms. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her.’

Finn blinked his eyes several times to shoo the drowsiness away. Neville was looking right at him, seeking advise and guidance that he was frankly far too exhausted to give. Fortunately he already knew the right answer and had been thinking it for a week or so now. ‘You should talk to her. Listen to her side of things.’

‘I’ve tried, I really have but she always just-‘ He stopped and Finn wearily spied the sly look on the Anglian’s face. ‘Or better yet,’ Neville grinned with conspiracy. ‘You could go talk to her.’

‘Nev, I don’t that’s a good-‘

‘It’s perfect!’ Neville said, hopping to his feet. ‘She likes you, always has, she won’t slap you round the back of the head and call you a ‘stupid fecker’. Just ask her what I can do to make it up to her.’ He put on his most pathetic face, which would have made Finn laugh if he wasn’t so worn out. ‘Please?’

After a long, ragged sigh, Finn finally relented. Neville grabbed him around the shoulders and shook him gratefully, thanking him over and over. ‘I knew I could count on you, bonny lad,’ he grinned. ‘Now, the hour’s getting late. Time for a kip, I think. You coming?’

‘On you go,’ Finn smiled at his friend, lifting his cup in his direction. ‘I’m just going to drain the last of this ale.’

To Finn’s relief, Neville didn’t offer to stay with him but instead bid good night and retired. Truthfully, there was only one small gulp left in his cup; Finn just wanted a moment of peace before returning to the noisy barracks. He was in no mood to lie awake, listening to the myriad of snores and snorts from his fellow soldiers as he twisted and turned in his own uncomfortable bunk. The only thing he longed for was to be by Seth’s side, wrapped up in his muscular arms, breathing in his tangy scent, but he had been ordered to take the night off. Ricochet was looking after Seth tonight and if Finn even chanced going up there, he would be waved off.

‘There’s he is, the man himself!’

Finn’s quiet moment was shattered as a large figure hobbled up towards him. Finn glanced sideways, neither physically or emotionally fit to deal with another of McIntyre’s tauntings. He was about to say so when his eyes fell on the large bandage encompassing the giant man’s leg and he noted the way he hobbled on it. He should have been using a cane to help him walk but McIntyre was clearly too proud or stubborn (or both) to do so.

Finn’s confusion only grew when McIntyre placed a small glass in front of him and took a seat opposite, his bulk hitting the wood with a loud plonk. Arched eyebrows flattened over topaz eyes, scutinising the glass in front of him as if it was about to burst into flames.

McIntyre heaved out a long breath through his nose as he took the strain off his injured leg, pulling Finn’s attention back to the Caledonian. ‘They told me to stay in my bunk until it heals,’ he explained despite there being no query, indicating his bandaged limb, ‘but I told them where they could shove their bed-rest.’ Finn watched as McIntyre placed another of the small glasses on the table, one meant for the Caledonian himself, then produced as if from nowhere, an old brown bottle. ‘You ask me? There’s only one cure for any ailment and that’s Granny Mac’s homemade brew.’

He reached across the table. Finn couldn’t help but notice the bandages wrapped around McIntyre’s lower arm as he poured an amber liquid from the bottle into the Hibernian’s glass before filling his own, placing the bottle down and lifting his glass expectantly. It took a small cough from the Caledonian before Finn got the hint and lifted his own glass in a toast. McIntyre clinked his glass against Finn’s.

‘Slàinte mhath,’ the Caledonian whispered with a hushed breath and threw his head back to down the entire glass. Understanding this to be some important tradition of the larger man’s culture, Finn did the same…

…and just about choked to death.

McIntyre laughed heartily as Finn’s face turned beet red and he spluttered, feeling as if his throat had been seared with burning oil.

‘It packs a kick like a cranky donkey, doesn’t it?’ McIntyre beamed proudly. ‘Here, lad, have another. You get used to the burning after the first few.’

He refilled Finn’s glass and after another clink of the cups, the pair downed their second shot and already Finn could feel himself getting used to the potent nectar.

‘That…’ he stared into the bottom of his empty glass as if expecting to find the adjective hidden down there, ‘that is… different.’

‘That lad, is the taste of home,’ McIntyre said, his tone turning soft. Finn glanced up at the large man and noticed a sadness to his smile. He couldn’t believe it but he found himself actually feeling sorry for the man who had done nothing but belittle and torment him ever since Finn had turned down his advances that night in the stables.

He put down his glass, thinking it best to avoid another shot for now.

‘Do you miss it?’ he dared to ask, sipping the last of his ale to lubricate his throat muscles from the effect of Granny Mac’s homemade brew. ‘Your home, I mean.’

McIntyre’s gaze turned distance, the smile falling from his lips. ‘Not often,’ he replied a might too defensively, Finn observed. ‘I don’t miss the people much. Except for Granny Mac, that lady is a saint and a witch rolled into one.’ He gave a small snort of laughter before his features turned solemn again. ‘I miss the hills. Huge, rolling things they were. Beautiful.’ His eyes fluttered as he returned from his memories to the room around him. ‘Don’t get me wrong, lad, your hills are bonnie too… they’re just not…my hills.’

Finn nodded; he understood that sentiment all too well. As lovely as the nearest mountains to Dubhlinn were, the ones that he and Seth or Ricochet would go running up now and again, they were nothing compared to the Wicklow mountains he had called his own for so many years and knew as well as childhood friends. Often when he was high on the peaks, breathing in the beauty around him, his gaze would be pulled towards them as if hearing his mother’s voice calling for him to return home.

He awoke from his own nostalgia on seeing McIntyre fill his glass again. ‘Oh no, I really couldn’t-‘

But McIntyre forcefully clinked his own glass against Finn’s, eyebrows raised eagerly. ‘Third time’s the charm, lad.’

With a weary sigh, Finn lifted his drink and the pair downed the fiery liquid together. To his dismay, Finn found the raven-haired man’s words to be true and offered his glass for another refill. McIntyre gave a throaty chuckle of triumph and happily obliged.

Seth was awoken by a sharp rap at the door. By the time he had lifted his throbbing head from the pillow. Ricochet was already answering the call. Seth could make out whisperings before the young spearman nodded, said ‘understood’ then headed away in a hurry, leaving Seth alone with the newcomer. He felt his heart flip in his chest when he spied Finn slipping into the room, his feet shuffling slightly against the tiles as he clumsily closed the door and turned the key in the lock, testing the handle to make sure it held fast.

‘You’re drunk!’ Seth shot across the room to which Finn turned around, wobbling on his shaky legs and playfully lifted his finger to his lips in order to shush his lover. ‘What on earth have you been drinking?’

‘Granny Mac’s homemade brew,’ Finn returned in the strongest Hibernian accent Seth had ever heard him use, even though most of the words were heavily slurred.

‘What?’ Seth asked, unable to keep the smile from his lips. ‘What exactly is Granny Mac’s… wait, Granny Mac? You were drinking with Drew McIntyre?’

‘Shhh,’ Finn placed his finger against his lips again as he shuffled closer to Seth’s bed, stumbling from side-to-side as if he were on a boat tossing on choppy waves.

‘Why on God’s green earth were you drinking with McIntyre of all people?’ Seth asked, genuinely intrigued at this turn of events.

‘For your information,’ Finn replied, that accent of his lilting every word until it sounded like a different language completely, ‘I saved him… from a burning building.’

Seth’s eyes grew to the size of cauldrons. ‘What? When? You never told me anything-‘

‘Shhh!’

‘Don’t tell your commanding officer to ‘shhhh’!’

Finn began to laugh. No, not laugh. Giggle. He actually giggled.

Then he began to remove his clothes. Finn finally got his wish as Seth was struck dumb, watching on as Finn haphazardly discarded his basic armour, tunic and boots until he was in nothing but his subligaculum.

‘You like me in this, don’cha?’ he shot a teasing smile across at Seth who could only watch on in rapt fascination as Finn fished around in his discarded clothes. Finding what he was searching for, Finn brandished with an ungainly flourish, a ragged piece of fabric, coloured black and gold which he proceeded to wrap around his waist, followed in turn by his sword belt, minus the sheaths.

‘What are you doing?’ Seth asked, his voice nothing more than a squeak. He already knew what his lover was up to. Oh, all too well.

Finn held out his arms to show his handiwork. ‘You once told me that-‘ he paused to give a small hiccup, ‘-that you desired me most that day I served you at Corbin’s, remember?’

‘Yeeess,’ Seth replied, warily. He could feel a burning already pooling between his legs and fought back against it with all of his strength.

‘And I said, had I been wearing your house colours, you would be within your right to ravage me.’ The smile on Finn’s face grew even more lustful as he sidled up to Seth with more grace than a man three sheets to the wind had any right to be. Seth bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood as Finn stood right by his bed, his chin high to expose his graceful neck, hands by his side, offering his incredible, chiseled body on full display. ‘Well?’ he hushed out, his voice turning low like a growl, ‘ravage me, Seth.’

Oh no! He said ‘Seth’ in that beautiful accent of his, that breathy way he pronounced the ‘th’ at the end that made the younger man’s heart ache. And he wanted him. Oh so badly, did he want him. Seeing him wearing the colours of House Rollins around his slender waist, offering his body on a platter, telling Seth he had free reign to do what he wanted? The offer was far too tempting.

But truthfully, Finn was about to pass out. Seth could see it coming a mile away. And as if by some magic, mystical force, as soon as Seth pulled Finn down under the sheets with him, the older man’s eyes fluttered shut and he was snoring loudly within seconds. Seth smiled fondly down at the dark-haired man, pulling him closer and kissing him sweetly on the brow.

‘You are going to be so ill in the morning,’ Seth muttered under his breath as he snuggled into his lover and soon fell into a sweet sleep.

Seth was the first to awake the next day and prayed that Finn stayed under as long as possible. Sadly, the Hibernian had to wake at some point and Seth looked on, waiting with bated breath for the moment to hit. He watched as Finn’s eyelashes trembled open, saw the topaz eyes slowly rise up to find his dark brown ones…

… then watched as they screwed up tight again in agony.

‘Ohhh...’ Finn groaned out, groggily.

‘Yeeaahh,’ Seth offered by way of sympathy.

‘Oh, gods,’ Finn cursed as his weathered hand came up to cup his full face. ‘My head feels like it’s been split open by an axe.’

‘Exactly how much of Granny Mac’s homemade brew did you have?’ Seth asked, tentatively.

‘We finished the bottle,’ Finn confessed, his hand muffling his voice. ‘Urgh, I should have retired to bed when I had the chance.’

‘So…’ Seth really wanted to broach the subject even though Finn was clearly in agony. ‘You saved McIntyre’s life?’

Finn removed his hand to glance up feebly at his lover. His eyes were glazed, with sleep or suffering, Seth wasn’t sure. ‘I heard him yelling out for help from the cabin,’ he explained, his voice croaky. ‘It had caught fire and he was trapped inside, a beam had fallen on top of him. Ziggler had run off and left him. I wasn’t prepared to do the same.’

‘You could have been killed,’ Seth gasped, pulling Finn in closer.

‘I wasn’t,’ Finn replied back, simply.

‘So last night…?’

‘Think it was his way of making amends.’ All of a sudden, Finn began to laugh. When Seth enquired what was so funny, Finn explained. ‘Just remembered something. After we’d gotten rather tipsy, he propositioned me again.’

‘He did WHAT?’ Seth spluttered, making Finn cover his ears.

‘Ow, not so loud,’ he moaned.

‘What did he say to you?’ Seth demanded to know.

‘He asked to join in with you and me,’ Finn explained as another bubble of laugher rose up in him ‘practically begged.’ He glanced to his side and saw the look of horror on Seth’s face. ‘Don’t worry, I put him right. Said there was nothing between us and politely declined his offer. He was actually quite sweet about it. Said, he understood but if I ever changed my mind, I know where to find him.’ Again, the laughter burst out of Finn as if he couldn’t contain it.

‘Just what is so funny then?’ Seth asked, growing impatient, and more than a little self-conscious that McIntyre was still trying to get into his lover’s undergarments.

‘By the time we finished the bottle, McIntyre was worse for wear,’ Finn recounted the previous night. ‘Even worse than I was so I helped him up to his bunk. Poor eedjit was so hammered he didn’t even know how close he got to getting his wish. I was literally inches away from his bed and he will never know.’

Finn began to laugh again but Seth did not find it funny. ‘I don’t think I like the idea of you two being friends,’ he pouted, turning around so that his back was to Finn.

Rather than quelling the Hibernian’s laughter, Seth’s reaction only added to Finn’s mirth. ‘Come here, you,’ Finn rolled over so that the pair were spooning, Finn wrapping a muscular arm and strong thigh over his lover’s warm body. He placed his lips at the back of Seth’s neck, peppering kisses at the top of his spine. ‘You have no reason to worry or be jealous,’ Finn whispered, his breath tickling the delicate skin, making Seth tense up with passion. ‘I came to you, didn’t I? All I wanted the whole night was to be with you and the first opportunity I got, I sent Ricochet away to tend to McIntyre so that I could be with you.’

Seth tried to hide the smile on his face. ‘Do you remember what you did when you got here?’

‘Probably made a right arse of myself,’ Finn cringed.

‘You asked me to ravage you,’ the grin was well and truly on Seth’s face now as he remembered the night before; Finn all staggered, the pale skin on his cheeks flushed as he flaunted himself like a tasty morsel on Seth’s plate.

He heard the Hibernian let out a breath through his teeth behind him, felt the other man lift up the sheets slightly. ‘Is that why I’m dressed like this?’

‘You’re decked in my colours, see?’ Seth turned around so that he could take in the view of Finn’s attire too, smiling at the rumpled fabric of black and gold that he could see now was a fragment of an old tablecloth.

‘Pfft, how embarrassing,’ Finn’s head fell back and he covered his eyes with his forearm.

‘I thought it was cute,’ Seth said, placing his lips across Finn’s jawline. ‘You know, you passed out before I could do the deed...’

‘Seth…’ Finn hushed out in a warning tone. ‘I feel as if I’m actually dying.’

‘Then let me do all the hard work.’ Seth’s hand began to slink across Finn’s naked torso and he heard the older man groan softly. ‘You owe me a ravaging,’ he reminded the Hibernian with a teasing grin.

Finn’s weathered digits grabbed a hold of Seth’s hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing his knuckles tenderly. ‘And I will give it to you, I swear,’ he promised, meekly. ‘But for now, I really need to sleep off this accursed headache.’

With a soft chuckle, Seth gave up the fight. Not that it felt like defeat when his punishment was to snuggle into his worn-out lover and sleep peacefully throughout the entire morning, together.

‘Seth...’ Finn’s voice was soft and hesitant. It made the New Worlder pull back to gaze into his topaz eyes. They were misty and Seth knew it was not just from the hangover.

‘Finn, what’s wrong?’

‘I’m just... so glad you’re here,’ Finn let out a heavy sigh, pursing his bottom lip. ‘I mean, that you’re safe here... with me.’ A strong, pale arm wrapped itself around Seth’s waist and gripped him close. ‘I was so afraid. I thought I’d lost you.’

‘I’m here,’ Seth cooed, pulling Finn flush against his chest. ‘I’m here, thanks to you.’

‘When I saw Apollo...’ Finn choked on his words at the memory of the dying man, prone in a pool of his own blood. ‘I feared the worst. I thought they had killed you too.’

‘They didn’t,’ Seth tried to reassure him. Finn hadn’t acted as vulnerable as this since the night Corbin had announced his prediction of his promotion to High Constable and subsequent departure to Londinium. Seeing the usually level-headed and confidant Hibernian reduced to a panicked state had been the main catalyst that had propelled Seth to think up his plan to free Finn from Corbin’s clutches. That, and the fear of losing him forever. ‘They only took me prisoner and other than striking me a few times, never touched me.’

‘But that’s what confuses me,’ Finn pulled away from Seth’s embrace to pierce his medusa gaze into Seth’s eyes. ‘Why? Why did they take you prisoner rather than killing you?’

Seth took in a long deep breath, feeling something catch in the top of his throat that he tried in vain to push back down. He knew sooner or later he would need to reveal the well-kept secrets of his life to Finn, he just hoped it didn’t have to be now. That they could live together in blissful ignorance for as long as possible.

‘It’s because... they recognised me,’ Seth uttered, his tongue wrestling for the right words to say. ‘Who I am.’

‘Why should that matter to a bunch of Hibernian rebels?’ Finn pushed the point again, narrowing his eyes at his lover. ‘Who are you, Seth?’

Seth gave up the ghost and pulled himself to sit, his back against the headboard of his bunk. The crisp morning air in his room pricked his tanned skin out in goosebumps but the nip paled in comparison to the look of interrogation Finn gave him now.

‘They kept calling me the same thing over and over,’ Seth went on, remembering his brief spell in the rebel’s clutches. ‘Fearr leat an Rí. Do you know what that means?’ Finn shook his head. ‘I may not speak the tongue but I knew what they were saying. ‘The King’s Favourite’.’

‘The King? As in-?

‘King Helmsley the first of his name. Overlord of the New Cross Territories and King of Kings,’ Seth clarified, hoping his expression gave nothing away. ‘I served him back in Londinium.’

‘As a member of his Shield,’ Finn added, catching Seth by surprise. ‘Rico told me,’ Finn offered by way of explanation.

‘What else did he tell you?’ Seth asked, curious.

‘That you were the one who broke up the Shield.’ Finn looked on as Seth confirmed this with a nod of his head. ‘And that he considered you something of a son.’

Seth nodded again. ‘The feeling was mutual,’ he stated, the sadness lacing his voice. ‘He was the closest thing I ever had to a father. Mind you, I was not the only one. There were more than thirty of us who looked up to him that way.’

‘Thirty?’ Finn spluttered, to which Seth nodded his head solemnly.

‘All of us different ages and from different corners of the globe,’ he went on, thinking back to his youth. ‘We grew up together in his camp - Hunter’s camp. You could say we were his hobby, a collection of waifs and strays from his travels with the Red Army.’

‘What did he want with you?’ Finn asked, amazed at the tale he was hearing.

Seth paused, a crease growing between his eyebrows. ‘To turn us into weapons for the Cross,’ he said with a hint of venom to his tone. ‘He took us for various reasons - as bounty of conquest, as hostages, some simply because nobody else would have us - but he only wanted one things from us all. To become elite fighters that brought honour to his name and to the emperor’s.’

Seth leaned further against the wall, settling into a comfier position. He had already spilled some of his history to Finn and he could tell by his lover’s expression that it had only raised more questions than it had answered. He prepared himself to share even more of his past.

‘Some of us were only babes when we were taken to the camp,’ he explained. ‘We were raised by our nurses until the age of five. That’s when our training began. We were taught to fight, how to survive with minimal rations as well as schooled in the ways of the Cross. Nothing but out complete and true devotion to the Cross was accepted. If a child lacked the necessary discipline or devotion, he was thrown out of the camp and left to fend for themselves.’

‘But... you were children!’ The look on Finn’s face was heartbreaking. He was utterly bewildered at the conditions that Seth’s early life had entailed and the younger man didn’t blame him. It had been the only childhood he had ever known and when he heard of other’s speak of loving families or a youth spent not covered in bruises, it was only then that he understood how unusual his upbringing had been.

‘Not to him,’ Seth chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘We were blunt tools, needing a harsh whetstone to sharpen us.’ He chanced a glance at Finn but turned away. He hated the look of pity his lover was giving him. ‘It wasn’t all bad,’ he tried to reassure the concerned Hibernian. ‘I was one of the fortunate ones - naturally gifted, my trainers said. I may have been one of the smaller ones but I was quick and agile, clever... and ruthless. I won more fights than I lost and with such a reputation came a certain status amongst the other boys. They looked up to me... feared me even.

‘I came to find a surrogate brotherhood with two older boys, the ones who would become my fellow Shield members. Roman and Dean.’ His heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the memory of the two men. He hadn’t said their names aloud since leaving Londinium. ‘Roman was the largest boy there, and the older he got, the taller and broader he became. He was from an island community far, far away on the opposite side of the world. His father had been a tribal leader, conquered by the Red Army. Hunter had taken his eldest son as a hostage to keep the tribal leader in line. It was he who taught me about family.

‘Dean on the other hand had very different ideas of family. He was an orphan like me but had been taken in by a pack of wild dogs. He grew up with them on the streets and even now, long after his years at the camp, something feral and wild remained within him.

‘The three of us were a formidable force amongst our peers. We embodied strength, speed, cunning and unpredictability. It was only a matter of time before we caught Hunter’s eye, even without my influence.’

‘He favoured you before you were in his Shield?’ Finn asked.

The small smile crept up Seth’s cheek as he softly nodded his head. ‘They say parents love their children equally, but there’s always a special place in your heart... for your first.’ He watched those radiant topaz eyes spring open wide and wished right now that the Hibernian had let him have that ravishing right now instead of this confession.

‘I told you how my mother died in childbirth, well, Hunter was the one that found me, in a shack on the fringes of the battlefield, nothing but a waif, only hours old trying in vain to suckle at my deceased mother’s teat. He could easily have left me to perish that day - judging by where I was found, my father could have been a number of the opposition that was defeated that day, my mother waiting at the edge of the battlefield for him to come, unable to move to safety as her labour began.

‘However, he did not turn away from me. I don’t fool myself into believing that it was pity or compassion that caught hold of him that day; perhaps he saw an opportunity. So he scooped me into his arms, returned to his camp and had his aide procure a nursemaid for me. We were both sent to his estate in the south and by the time I came of age, he had gathered enough boys to turn part of his vast grounds into the training camp it would become.’

‘Did he visit you much?’ Finn asked, understanding now a little of the sadness that always surrounded Seth. At that very moment it hung around him like a shroud, bearing even those muscular shoulders down like a lead weight.

‘From time to time,’ Seth replied. ‘He was rarely home but when he returned he always came to inspect the camp and check our progress. We did everything we could to impress him and if he should acknowledge us, it was the proudest moment of our young lives. Naturally, I did everything I could to get him to notice me, to praise me. I would even go so far to say that I craved his attention more than any other boy there.’

Seth’s shoulders dropped even further. Finn shuffled close and placed his hand at the back of Seth’s neck, softly drawing him forwards until their foreheads touched. ‘He must have cared for you too. You said it yourself, they called you the King’s Favourite.’

‘There’s a difference between being a favourite to a king and a son to a father,’ Seth sighed, trying to hold back the emotion in his voice. ‘I saw it for myself that day on your farm, when you and your stepfather sparred. Your skill was impressive but you had lost and I actually felt myself fear for you when your received your stepfather’s ire. The moment he lashed your back, I believed him to be no different than Hunter. But then... he embraced you and you both laughed. It seemed so... foreign to me, so strange... and then, when you spoke of your mother.’ Seth heaved a long, drawn out sigh. ‘I envy you so much, Finn.’

Finn didn’t have the heart to correct Seth. Finn had never known his own father and had lost his mother and stepfather too soon. The thought of them both often lead him to wallow in self-pity, something he now felt very guilty about considering that Seth had suffered even more and received even less in his life.

‘You may not have had a father or a mother,’ Finn whispered, placing a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek. ‘But you still have family. You have me.’ He pulled away to force Seth to look at him, hoping the spell of his medusa eyes would overcome the deflated young man.

Those large doe eyes of the New Worlder, full and glassy, widened with wonder and he lunged in to capture Finn’s lips. The Hibernian savoured the tangy taste of his lover, gripping his shoulders tightly to pull him in flush against his naked skin.

‘I love you so much, Finn,’ he whispered as he pulled himself away for a fraction of a second.

‘And I love you too, Seth and nothing is ever going to change that.’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian must make a decision/ New faces arrive in Hibernia

Mid-day and Finn stumbled into the mess-hall feeling no better for his lazy morning. He had long come to the conclusion that it had been the witch inside Granny Mac that concocted her home brew. She’d cast her magic to make it tastes like honey after a few sips, tempting the drinker to down her toxic poison.

He had purposely arrived late for his meal, hoping that most of the crowd would have left already but even with the dozen or so soldier left nattering around him, his head was still pounding as if somebody was using his temples as the drums of war. Even Ricochet’s deep, smooth drawl calling his name sounded like fingernails screeching down a plane of slate.

‘There must be plague going around,’ the New-Worlder smiled knowingly as Finn slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite him and began to stare blankly at his bowlful of stew. ‘Whatever ails you has also stricken Officer McIntyre to stay in his bed for once.’

‘Best be careful you don’t catch it too,’ Finn shot a warning look at his friend, making Ricochet chuckle good-humouredly.

‘You’d best eat up,’ the former mercenary offered, ‘you’ve been summoned.’

‘Summoned?’ Finn’s eyes narrowed with concern. ‘By who?’

‘Field Commander Lashley.’

Finn’s mind went back to their conversation yesterday. True, he had promised to help Lashley whenever he was needed but a part of him never thought he actually would take him up on the offer. At least not so soon. ‘Why?’

Ricochet only shrugged in response but the smile on his lips told Finn he knew more than he was letting on. ‘All I know is that if you turn up looking like a walking corpse, he won’t be very impressed. So get that stew down you and put some colour back in your cheeks.’

Finn knew something was happening, something serious. He didn’t know the nature of that something but he knew that life would never be the same again and from the moment the pair of them stepped into officer’s meeting room and found it full, their superiors seated all around them, Finn’s deductions only served to assert themselves further.

‘I’ve brought Infantryman Bálor, as instructed, sir,’ Ricochet announced. Finn followed his friend into the room to the front of Lashley’s desk, trying to ignore the menagerie of eyes boring into him as he stood at the New-Worlder’s side, their feet apart and hands behind their back, heads politely bowed. His knees were trembling.

‘Ah, excellent,’ Lashley returned, a gentle smile on his lips. ‘You may resume your place, Aide Mann.’

Finn’s head shot up on the use of ‘Aide’ in Ricochet’s title, his blue eyes darting to meet his friends. Ricochet found his gaze and returned his startled look with a smile of pride, before he walked across the room to take up position next to Junior Officer Black, the man Finn suspected had promoted his friend. A small feeling of regret pinged up inside of him that the pair would no longer be in the same troop but this was quickly quashed as he remembered his own summoning and wondered what trajectory it would follow.

‘I won’t bore you with unnecessary details,’ Lashley went on, his voice reverberating around the room like the chimes from a great bell, bringing Finn’s full attention back to his commander. ‘Our latest mission sadly left us with noticeable absences.’ Lashley sighed, the sorrow of the losses evident in his voice. Finn admired the man for that. ‘We lost many a good man, some in actions of courage, others through cowardice. As a result, we have some positions that we need to fill.’

A surge rose up inside of Finn. Surely he had misheard, or if he had heard correctly, he was jumping to conclusions. But the more Lashley spoke, the more he realised he was not clutching at straws.

‘In light of your recent actions, I believe that you, Infantryman Bálor will fill one of those roles very well indeed,’ the field marshal went on. ‘But what I did not expect was to find several of my men put your name forward as candidate.’

Finn’s eyes just about popped from his skull, making the larger set man chuckle. ‘Surely you are not surprised to hear this?’ Lashley raised an eyebrow at the Hibernian. He leaned over and pulled over several pieces of parchment, glancing over the words, handwritten in pen and ink. ‘After all, you did save their lives.’

Finn’s mind instantly jumped to Seth, a thought that made his heart soar. To be constantly by his lover’s side, to aide him in any way he should see fit, to be his shield during battle, to serve and protect him. Nothing would thrill him more than to be Seth’s right hand man. They would finally be allowed to spend each waking moment together without the suspicious prying eyes of their comrades and superiors ogling them.

But Finn knew all too well that there were others candidates also seeking aides. Ziggler had vanished after leaving McIntyre to burn alive in the cabin and if he should ever rear his head again, would certainly be hanged for his cowardice. Last night, when McIntyre seeked him out and shared his beloved Granny Mac’s homemade brew, the Caledonian was attempting to make amends for his actions since Finn had turned him down in the barn, and even though a few shots didn’t wash away all the contempt and cruelty that McIntyre had thrown Finn’s way, the Hibernian could not bring himself to remain angry with the raven haired man. Life was too short to waste every waking thought on those who’s wronged him and he was exhausted enough from the small part of him that would always despise Corbin.

‘I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I am referring to Officer McIntyre and Officer Rollins,’ Lashley interrupted Finn’s thoughts as he laid down two sheet of parchment, each bearing the name and distinctive writing of both men, McIntyre’s being more scrawled than normal since the injury to his dominant arm. ‘Both had sadly lost their aides, albeit in drastically different ways and have requested you take their place.’ Finn watched on as a third piece of paper was laid down but before he could make out the name, Lashley covered it with his large palm, fingers splayed.

‘But there is another who has been impressed by your quick-thinking and bravery recently,’ he went on, Finn felt his insides twist as he made a bold prediction of the third candidate. ‘Me…’

Finn’s topaz eyes climbed to meet the dark brown of Lashley’s, his arched eyebrows coming to meet in the centre of his forehead, unsure he had actually heard his commander utter those words or if he had simply imagined them.

‘It’s no secret that relations between my aide and I have been… on the rocks recently,’ Lashley went on. ‘I don’t believe Rush is the man to be my right hand whilst I hold this post. Too ambitious, too proud. I need somebody to offer better guidance, to see what I can not and advise me wisely. I believe that man is you.’

Finn’s throat went dry, his head whirring around like weather vane caught in a gale. He became aware of a lingering silence in the room and noticed the way Lashley looked at him, his brown eyes probing. He was waiting for some kind of response. Finn tried to lubricate his throat with a small cough but the itchiness at the back of his larynx remained.

‘I… I am honoured beyond belief, sir,’ he breathed out. ‘I am only a rookie so to be sought after for such an esteemed position so soon by so many is…’ he shook his head, ‘…incredibly humbling.’

The side of Lashley’s mouth rose in a warm smile. The man’s aura changed completely when he smiled, like a cold, barren landscape when it was kissed by a mild winter sun.

Yet Finn was still afraid for the answer to his next question. ‘Which position have you chosen for me, sir?’

Lashley lowered his head with a small laugh. ‘Actually Infantryman Bálor, I leave that decision to you.’

This should have elated Finn instead it twisted his gut even more. There was one clear-cut answer, but to choose it here, in front of all these witnesses, before men of a higher rank, class and breeding than him, to openly defy the honour bestowed upon him by the field commander himself, was akin to professional suicide. There was also the possibility that it could shed unwanted scrutiny upon Finn and Seth’s relationship. After all, nobody really knew Finn’s background and how he came to be a soldier of the Cross other than McIntyre, who was reeling in his bunk from Granny Mac’s home brew, and Lashley, who could easily use this knowledge against him if he wanted to impose his will.

He felt trapped, that same feeling of helplessness and panic surging through him that he’d felt the night Corbin had stolen him away from his home.

‘Gentlemen,’ he heard Lashley announce before him. ‘I would like to consult Infantryman Bálor here in private, if I may?’

The crowd at Finn’s back replied in the affirmative and retreated. By the looks on their faces, some were displeased at missing the verdict, wanting to be the first to know Finn’s choice. News and gossip were prized possessions among the higher ups of the army, weapons to be used to take their rivals down and elevate their position further. Finn watched the mass of lesser officers leave, eyeing up his newest threat since he was soon to be part of their world.

Alone with Lashley, the door to the field commander’s office firmly closed, Finn turned to his superior as he got to his feet. ‘Finn… may I call you Finn?’ It felt weird hearing his first name on the large man’s tongue but he nodded his consent anyway. ‘I know you’ve already made your decision.’

Finn’s eyes fell to the floor, watching Lashley’s greaves as they walked around his desk to stand directly in front of him. He wished to say something that would flatter the commanding officer, something that would stoke his pride so he would take Finn’s decision better but words deserted him.

‘Don’t think it hasn’t gone by my notice that all three of us were involved in that… unsavoury situation between you and High Constable Corbin,’ Lashley went on. Finn nearly flinched at the sound of his former master’s name. ‘And don’t think I’m oblivious to the fact that… McIntyre and I were complacent,’ he sighed and quickly changed his mind, ‘played an active part in your suffering.’ Finn chanced a look up at his superior’s face and was genuinely surprised to see the remorse it held. ‘Officer Rollins, on the other hand, was the only one who helped you, even won you your freedom, at the risk of losing his own position or even his life.’

Taking another step closer, Lashley placed both hands on Finn’s shoulders, the Hibernian looking up with a vague expression. ‘I meant what I said, I believe you would make a fine aide to the Field Commander and the Red Army would benefit greatly from your brilliant mind. I also believe McIntyre sees you in a new light since you bravely rescued him from the burning cabin.’ He paused, that small smile returning to his lips. ‘But I know in your heart, there is only one man that you trust, that you would risk everything for. I witnessed it myself not two days ago. If your choice is Officer Rollins, then say so. You will not be punished for your honesty.’

Finn ran his tongue over his dry lips. ‘I owe everything to Officer Rollins,’ he said and Lashley dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘A fine choice,’ he said and patted Finn’s shoulders with a smile. ‘Then let’s make this official.’

The crowd of prying lesser officers had not travelled far and once Lashley had rounded them up, they were herded up to Seth’s chambers. Finn had expected his secret lover to be confused by the sudden intrusion of the mass but instead he beamed as if he had been expecting them.

And why wouldn’t he? There only ever was one answer to Finn’s conundrum.

Most of what happened next passed in a blur for Finn, whose elation clouded his every thought and move. He only remembered staring deep into Seth’s dark eyes as he clasped the ceremonious sword - a beauty of a weapon, undented by battle, with a jewel-encrusted hilt – and made his vows, that he would listen to and respect Finn as his aide and would never order him to do anything that would jeapordise his honour. He spoke the words with such ease, reminding Finn that he had done this once before. The Hibernian repressed a small shiver at the sudden memory of Apollo, appearing as if an apparition in the room. He had been one of the first men here to show Finn kindness, a trait that had continued until his untimely death. Finn only hoped that he could match up to such lofty heights in the same position.

The sword was then handed to the Hibernian who clasped it awkwardly, dazzled by the multiple precious gems sparkling in the light. From out of his tangled mind, a single thought rose to the surface, wondering if this was the same feeling Seth got every time Finn locked his topaz gaze onto the New Worlder.

He was forced back to reality as Lashley instructed Finn to make his vows. The Hibernian, being new to the Red Army and their ways, had to have Lashley say the words of the ‘Aide’s Vow’ to which Finn (so long as he agreed to the terms) replied with ‘I swear’. It was easy enough; Finn was more than happy to serve and protect his new superior, to guide him with advice and never to put him in harm’s way. He didn’t need an official ceremony or garish sword to breath truth into those words.

The ceremony finished and vows witnessed, Lashley confirmed Finn’s new position as Seth’s aide and the crowd departed, leaving Finn and Seth alone. The younger man was keen to give his first order to his new aide and asked Finn to find a length of rope.

That night, a second set of vows were made, one made under the condition of a traditional Binding Vow of Hibernia with both men’s hands knotted up in the rope. This time, neither soldier spoke out loud, keeping their vows to an inner monologue, but both knew deep down exactly what their lover had proposed in his mind.

They sealed their second set of vows with a kiss and, when Seth commanded his aide to lock the door, Finn couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.

***

Finn leaned back against the wall, grinning with amusement as he watched Seth pout like a spoiled nobleman’s child.

‘You can’t stop me,’ he huffed as he perched on the edge of his bunk, his long, fluffy hair spilling across his shoulders.

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ Finn replied flatly, which made Seth all the more incensed.

‘Stop mocking me!’ he shot back. ‘I am your superior officer!’

‘And I your mere aide,’ Finn replied, unable to keep the edges of his lips downturned. ‘I can not dictate what you can and can’t do.’

‘Exactly!’ Seth pointed a finger at his taunting lover. ‘So when I say I’m going outside then I’m going outside.’

‘On you go,’ Finn held out a flat palm and watched the younger man as he remained seated on the edge of the bunk, his brown breeches that he’d managed to wrestle on himself (with great difficulty) hiding the mass of bandages around his injured knee.

Seth chewed the inside of his cheek, crinkles appearing on the bridge of his nose. ‘Help me up,’ he said in a tone that would have jolted any man to obey.

Any man that is, except Finn.

‘Ah, see,’ Finn sucked in a breath through his teeth, turning Seth’s face beet red, ‘that’s where it becomes difficult.’

‘Why?’ Seth spat. ‘I gave you an order!’

‘Yes but, you see, I made a vow not three days ago where I promised to protect and serve you to the best of my ability.’ Finn pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards Seth with his arms crossed across his chest. ‘If I helped you leave your bed before you were ready and aggravate your injury then I would have broken that most sacred of vow.’

‘Spare me that nonsense,’ Seth seethed but when he saw his lover raise a single eyebrow like a scolding mother, he decided to change tactic. ‘Help me to the courtyard at least. Let me feel the sun on my face, the wind on my skin. I feel… trapped in here. Like I did back in that rebel camp.’

Finn’s shoulders lost some of their tension and Seth saw the tide change in his favour. ‘Fine,’ Finn sighed, walking over to Seth’s chest in order to retrieve a fresh tunic. ‘Ten minutes. That’s all you’re getting.’

Seth’s face lit up. ‘Yes, yes, I promise,’ he chirped like a happy bird.

‘And keep off that leg! Lean on me the entire time.’

‘If you insist,’ Seth shrugged cheekily. Finn rolled his eyes. The young officer had been all over the Hibernian like a rash for the past few days. One morning, Ricochet had even asked if Finn was injured, noting he was limping slightly. Finn had to stop himself from smirking like a demon, thinking back to that night.

With Seth dressed and presentable, Finn placed his lover’s arm across his shoulders and helped him to his feet. Seth held back a grunt of pain as he reached a vertical base, making Finn frown with uncertainty but Seth reassured him he was ok and adjusted himself onto his good foot. The pair lumbered towards the door, Seth hopping the entire way and, with extreme caution, the two men tackled the spiral stairs leading down the officer’s tower to the courtyard below.

The instant they walked out into the fresh air, Seth sighed contentedly, relishing the feel of freedom. A dim sun shone in the sky but it did little to warm the crisp winter’s day. That didn’t matter to Seth though. Even dressed in a short-sleeved tunic, he embraced the cold as a novelty after being stuck in his stuffy room. The New Worlder was guided to a crate by his lover and made to sit to take the weight off his injury. A shiver shot up his spine, making him grin even wider.

‘Whoof, it’s chilly,’ he noted.

He watched as his lover lifted his nose to the air and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes as he took in the scents on the wind as if he were a wolf in the mountains. ‘Storm’s coming,’ he said with certainty, making Seth roll his eyes.

‘Using your warlock powers again are we?’ he teased.

‘Nothing magic about it,’ Finn returned with a haughty expression on his face. ‘It’s simply paying attention to your surroundings.’

Seth took that statement to heart. ‘I pay attention,’ he argued, ‘… it’s just hard when there’s something so beautiful and distracting in front of me.’

This time, it was Finn’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Ever the flatterer,’ he mused and subtly placed his hand over Seth’s. Within seconds, he withdrew it. ‘You’re freezing,’ he scolded. ‘Time to head back inside.’

‘No, not yet, I’m not feeling cold, I swear.’ Seth could see his protests were falling on deaf ears so he made a quick suggestion. ‘Head to the stables and bring me a sheepskin. I only want five more minutes.’

Finn stood with a stern look on his face for several agonising seconds but eventually wavered to his lover’s request, turning to head towards the stables while telling Seth to stay put – Seth wasn’t sure if the Hibernian was joking or not. Either way, he had no intention of moving. He was enjoying this reprieve from his sweltering chambers and oven-box of a bunk, feeling like he had taking his first steps back to civilisation. He had adored every second of being alone with Finn, but was growing more and more intrigued by the novelty of seeing new faces.

He observed the activity around him. Soldiers practicing their morning drills while servants hustled to and fro, bringing in supplies from the local butchers and bakers. The clang, clang, clang of hammer and anvil reverberated from the smiths interposed with the whinny of horses from the stables. Lazily closing his eyes, he let his other senses take over, his mind swimming in the calming atmosphere of the morning.

His meditation was rudely interrupted by a stampede of horses hooves thundering their way through the gates of the castle and into the compound. He opened his eyes to spy the carriage as it rushed past, the driver yanking on the reigns to bring the horses to a stop right outside the door leading to the mess-hall. Seth watched on with growing interest as the driver hopped down off the box to open the doors for his passengers.

Despite its dramatic entrance, the carriage was not an elegant or luxurious vehicle. It was plain and made of wood, the driver dressed like a man of the upper working class. It seemed to Seth to make a statement, albeit one of contradictions. That the passenger inside must be somebody of some importance and wealth but also wished to appear modest and humble.

The penny dropped instantly and Seth ground his teeth as his suspicions were confirmed, watching the three men emerge from the carriage. He shrank back further into the shadows, hoping none of the men spotted him sitting there. He was so focused on the newcomers that he didn’t spy Finn returning from the stables until he’d placed the woven rug around Seth’s shoulders.

‘It was the best I could find,’ Finn explained, ‘I tried to-‘ He paused, following Seth’s gaze across the courtyard. ‘Newcomers,’ he noted out loud before turning back to study his lover’s features. ‘You know them.’

‘Yes,’ Seth confirmed, his jaw set as hard as stone, ‘they are from Londinium.’

‘Clerics.’

‘Yes,’ Seth said with a hint of surprise. He regretted underestimating his Hibernian lover; Finn, despite his devotion to his old gods, was a soldier of the Red Army now and had been inducted by the castle’s resident cleric, Brother Michaels, a world-weary man who had discovered his devotion late in life after a youth filled with excess and debauchery. However, Brother Michaels was growing long in the tooth and cared little about moulding the new recruits in the way of the Cross. Unlike those three men that had just walked through the door...

‘I’m beginning to feel the chill now, Finn,’ Seth declared even though he showed no sign of shivering. ‘Let’s go back inside.’

Once Seth was safely back in his bunk, he dismissed Finn for the morning, insisting his aide went about his daily duties before joining his friends for the breaking of fast in the mess hall. As Finn sat in his usual spot, in the corner by the fireplace, he smiled at the topic of conversation. Rumour had it that a bizarre soldier from an exotic land located at the other side of the world had arrived in Londinium as the King’s guest to train the latest recruits in the way of his weaponless combat he dubbed ‘Strong Style’.

‘They say he wears robes of red and black,’ Ricochet told the rest, exploiting the information he’d gained as aide to Junior Officer Black. ‘One side of his head is shaved, the other side has black hair reaching to his shoulder, he insists on wearing a mould of metal in his mouth which he says is to guard his teeth and his eyes are as black as jet.’

‘What’s his name?’ Owens asked while, as always, trying to look as unimpressed as possible.

‘I can’t remember, something long and strange but everybody who speaks of him calls him ‘The Artist’.

‘And what of his fighting technique... this ‘Strong Style’?’ Sami asked, leaning in with all the enthusiasm of a child being told ghost stories by his grandmother.

‘It’s meant to be intense,’ Ricochet went on, ‘and very effective. Several of the recruits he’s training have been so badly winded they’ve had to sit out a day or two... and that’s apparently with him holding back.’

Finn’s interest perked up at that tit-bit of news and he leaned in, intrigued to hear more when a fanfare rang out, bringing every soldier in the mess-hall to their feet. The herald announced the arrival of Lashley and Black into the room, who took up their positions at the officer’s table but before the men had a chance to resume their seats, the herald announced three new names.

‘Welcome our esteemed guests from the Citadel, Brother Styles, Brother Gallows and Brother Anderson.’ Finn watched with rapt interest as the three men walked into the hall, able now to properly examine the men from Londinium.

The first that drew his eye was the big man. Tall enough to tower over even McIntyre, he was a broad-shouldered, muscular specimen. The scowl across his face was deepened by the ripples across his bald head and dark beard, giving Finn the impression of a man who had been in his fair share of fights - an odd accolade for a religious man. However, it was the Cross he represented, a faith born from blood.

The man behind him was like a shrunken copy of himself. Bald, bearded and well-built, only smaller in height. What struck Finn about this man, however, was the callousness in his eye. While the larger man was the inferno of a blacksmith’s forge, this man was the hammer. Cold, compact and dangerous.

The third man, who lead the party in, was the last to catch Finn’s gaze but the one on whom he lingered most. The shortest of the three men, he had shoulder length hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His robes were simple like his brothers but the tilted cross he wore on the chain around his neck was large and intricately carved. A sapphire gleamed from its centre, its hue a deep royal blue. It stood out from the rest of his attire like a king’s crown in a privy pit.

If that wasn’t strange enough, the cleric was smiling!

Finn had only met a handful of clerics in his lifetime but until that very moment he had never seen a single one of them smile. He had actually begun to believe that the practice was banned by their sacred book. And yet, this man stood, a warm, welcoming grin on his face, each perfect white tooth on display as he surveyed the room and each of its inhabitants around him.

Something about this man intrigued Finn.

‘Thank you,’ the beaming cleric spoke, his voice thick with a regional New World accent. ‘Thank y’all for such a kind, respectful welcome but don’t let us keep y’all from your meals. Sit down and eat well, brothers.’ He gave a sign of the Cross, moving his hand from his right shoulder to his left hip then his left shoulder to his right hip, all while bowing his head. Only once he had lifted his head back up did the soldiers resume their seats again.

Finn returned to his broth but his topaz eyes never left the long-haired cleric, even when conversation returned to the strange guest in the capital. Seth knew his man, they clearly had some kind of history and after learning a mere fraction of his lover’s past, he found himself aching to know more. He scanned the man over and over as if his appearance alone would give some clue as to his link to Seth. The young officer had spoken of a lover in Londinium - the one he had dyed his hair for. Could this be the mystery man who Seth had given his heart to? At first glance, Finn couldn’t find much similarity between himself and this man except for...

The colour of his eyes! A dazzling sky blue!

Finn felt his stomach begin to turn and pushed his bowl away, no longer hungry. Glancing around his friends, he tried in vain to join in the conversation again but his glances kept returning to the man in brown robes.

All of a sudden, the man turned and faced Finn. Blue eyes and perfect smile beamed right across the room towards him. Finn’s entire body jolted then froze into place as if he were carved of stone. One thought flashed through his mind. The Medusa!

A flash of fair hair and Finn found a welcoming distraction to pull both his gaze and his person away from the stranger. With everything that had happened in the past few days, he had not been able to fulfil his promise to Neville and speak to Caoimhe. Now, he saw his chance and without saying a word to his friends, he left their company and headed for the kitchens. He never looked back at the cleric, yet somehow he swore he could feel the man’s gaze following his every move.

The large kitchen was all a-bustle with activity as the cooks cleaned up from the mid-day meal and started to prepare for the evening. Caoimhe was nowhere in sight but when he enquired her whereabouts to a red-faced woman busy chopping up vegetables, she pointed to a backdoor leading outside. Finn stepped out into the cold afternoon and instantly felt the chilly wind rush through his uniform. Rubbing his hands up and down his arms, he glanced around for any sign of the young maid. He heard her before he saw her and when she stood up to face him, wiping her mouth with embarrassment, he smiled at her with warm sympathy, knowing now why she had been giving Neville the cold shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Seth’s past starts to reveal itself but will Finn like what he hears?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian accompanies a cleric on his duties

The moment Seth heard the knock at his door he felt his heart sink. He had tried to keep away as long as he could but being an invalid meant he had limited places to hide, making him easy to find. He had rather hoped he’d have a little longer than a couple of hours before facing his unwanted guest.

‘Come in,’ he called out, his voice sounding croaky.

The door opened and that old familiar face peered inside. ‘How is our favourite little invalid, huh?’ the man asked. Allen Jones Styles was almost exactly as Seth remembered him since leaving Londinium. His hair was longer, now reaching his shoulders and a few more wrinkles here and there but he still sported that same bright eyes and warm smile. Seth had often wondered how often Styles had flashed that smile at an opponent, luring them into a false sense of security before he rammed them face first into the dirt.

‘Brother Styles?’ Seth feigned surprise at his arrival. ‘I had no idea you were here in Hibernian?’

‘Oh, really?’ Styles crinkled one eye as he took a seat next to Seth’s bunk. ‘’Cause I swear I saw you watchin’ us arrive in the courtyard this morning. That’s right, you were sitting on a barrel leaning up against the west wing wall wearing nothin’ but your night vest.’

Seth nearly turned red at being found out. He should have known Styles would have clocked him the moment he arrived, without even needing to turn his head. ‘You’re not one to leave the comforts of your mansion in Londinium. Why are you here?’

‘Why you bringin’ up business straight away?’ Styles pouted before leaning forward and placing his palm on Seth’s shoulder. The hand was warm; the touch firm. ‘Can’t we just talk... like brothers do?’

Seth squirmed at that word. Nobody had called him ‘brother’ since that fated night when he had held the dagger aloft before plunging it straight into warm flesh and bone. ‘Of course,’ he paused, trying to form the word ‘brother’ on his lips but it didn’t manifest, ‘how have you been?’

‘Busy,’ Styles leaned back with a snort, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘As always. The rebellion north of the border is gaining traction again. They took Aberdonia two weeks past, killed one of the officers, I forget his name, Bo-something-or-other, and forced our men South. We’re currently regrouping, sending more reinforcements. Their victory will be short-lived.’

‘I didn’t realise you were involved in the Red Army?’

‘I am a representative of the Holy Cross,’ Styles shot back a little too fiercely. ‘It’s my duty to guide the sword and spears of the Red Army who does His work.’

Seth was not surprised at Styles’ knowledge of the army’s movements - he had always wanted to be a soldier andeven though he had thrived as a man of the Cross, a part of him still longed for blood and glory.

‘And I hear there are stirrings of unrest here too.’

‘You heard?’ Seth felt a little embarrassed that his capture had reached Londinium ears, meaning...

‘Of course, that is why I’m here. Father sent me.’

There is was! Seth’s shame deepened.

‘Is he... disappointed in me?’ He lowered his head, trying to hide the hurt in his face.

‘He is relieved,’ Styles countered, his lips turning up into a smile once more. ‘He is glad that his favourite son is alive and recovering well.’ He cast a quick glance across Seth’s frame, hidden beneath his covers, and back again with a querying glance. ‘At least, I hope you are?’

‘Yes, I am on the mend,’ Seth assured him sullenly. ‘It may take a few weeks but I will fight again. You can tell him that.’

‘You can tell him yourself.’ Seth’s head shot up and he eyed Styles frantically. ‘He’s summoned you. Myself and the Goodbrothers are to escort you back to Londinium when you are fit and ready.’

‘Pfft, then you have a long wait,’ Seth retorted petulantly. ‘My knee is badly wounded. Healers say it’ll take a month or so of bed rest then even longer for me to walk on it again.’

‘We’re in no hurry,’ Styles smiled serenely back at him. ‘This Hibernian uprising has got tongues wagging in the church. We all agree that we have neglected this land of opportunity too long. I am here to spread His word among Hibernia’s people.’

‘We have Brother Michaels,’ Seth muttered to which Styles snorted again.

‘What, to hide himself away in his quarters, pretending he doesn’t want another drink?’ Styles shook his head. ‘No, this land needs a man with passion for his faith to guide them, to show them the way to righteousness. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ Seth returned, quietly. ‘So you are staying?’

‘Brother Michaels is preparing our quarters as we speak.’ He turned his attention back to Seth, flashing that smile of his. ‘I look forward to becoming acquainted with you again, brother.’

In spite of himself, Seth felt pleased about this too. ‘As am I. I’ve been so afraid to face any of you since...’ his voice trailed off.

‘Since the day you were exiled to these shores?’ Styles ended his sentence and Seth lowered his head again. ‘The past is the past. From what I hear, you have shown penance for your mistakes and some say, are even a humbled man. Now that I can judge this for myself, I’m inclined to agree with them.’

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation and both men turned to see Finn enter the room. ‘Seth, I, oh-‘ the blue-eyed Hibernian lost his tongue and bowed his head towards Styles. ‘My apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude.’

Seth was in no mood to introduce Styles to Finn and went to dismiss his aide when the cleric spoke first. ‘No apology needed,’ he beamed, getting to his feet and striding towards Finn. ‘Not from the man who saved my beloved baby brother.’ Before Finn could fathom what was happening, Styles had clasped his hand in both of his and held it tight. ‘There is not enough gratitude in the world to express how much we owe you for saving Seth’s life.’

‘We?’ Seth asked, suspiciously.

‘Why, from Father of course,’ Styles turned back to face Finn. ‘His Majesty has summoned you too, Infantryman-,’ he stopped on spying the pin on Finn’s tunic, ‘no, Aide Balor. He is keen to meet the man who rescued not one but two of his superior officers.’

‘Me?’ Finn stuttered. ‘But I’m not, I mean I am of low birth and-‘

‘Don’t talk of birth,’ Styles waved away any dissent from the Hibernian, ‘especially when you’re in the company of an orphan and a bastard. You will join us when we sail for Londinium the day Officer Rollins is fit enough for the journey. In the meantime, I wish to explore my parish for the foreseeable future. Can you spare one of your men to escort me?’

The question was directed at Seth who replied with a furrowed brow. ‘Did you not arrive with the Goodbrothers?’

‘Indeed I did but after a long journey over land and water, I have ordered Brother Anderson and Brother Gallows to rest. I will only be an hour or two - one of your infantrymen would suffice.’

‘There’s only one man I would trust to escort my big brother,’ Seth replied, catching Finn’s eye. ‘Aide Balor will go with you.’

‘And who will look after you, sir, while I am gone?’ Finn asked. If Seth didn’t know better he’d think Finn was trying to squirrel his way out of the task.

‘The maid, the guard, any one of my men,’ Seth reeled off the list. ‘Or I could just do what you keep telling me to and rest for a couple hours.’

Seth saw Finn draw in his bottom lip and scrape it beneath his teeth. He was unhappy about this whole situation and Seth was unsure why. He would be sure to ask him later.

‘If that’s what it takes to get you to follow the healer’s orders then I will happily escort, um...’ Finn paused, unsure how to address the newcomer.

‘Just call me brother, brother,’ Styles said with a warm smile. ‘We are all brothers and sisters in the Lord’s eye.’

‘Right, so we are,’ Finn smiled back but Seth knew his lover well enough to see the tension in his voice. He would even venture to say that Styles irked the Hibernian.

‘I will see you again later, baby brother,’ Styles said to Seth. ‘Rest easy.’

Seth bid them farewell and watched the pair leave. His curiosity about Finn’s feelings towards Styles had been piqued - it wasn’t like Finn to take an instant dislike to somebody! He wondered what had happened in the short amount of time that Styles had been here to make his lover react so. For now, however, he would have to reel in his urge to find out. Instead, he had to lie on his back, stare up at the ceiling and try his best not to need the privy.

Finn already wore his sword and dagger at his hip but felt more comfortable grabbing his spear before they left the safety of the castle. Styles told him it was an unnecessary precaution but waited on its retrieval nonetheless. The pair then left through the large gates, the two men a complete juxtaposition of the other. Finn, in his breastplate and gauntlets, alert and tense, awaiting trouble and ensuring his readiness for it; Styles in his simple robe, flaunting his bejewelled cross, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets, humming a merry tune.

‘Pretty place,’ he noted as they walked along the cobbled streets.

Finn only grunted back. He could never bring himself to love the capital city of his country. Ever since he had arrived in its harbour clad in chains with a metal collar around his neck, it had felt more like his prison.

‘But of course you’re not from here are you?’ Styles noted. ‘Where exactly did you grow up in Hibernia?’

Finn was taken aback. How did Styles know that about him?

Either his expression or silence gave away his surprise as the cleric explained with a smile.

‘Don’t be alarmed, brother, I am not trying to trick you. Only curious. You’ve been causing a bit of a stir in Londinium which is a tremendous achievement. Normally, they only care about what happens in Londinium. Yet, the moment Sir William Regal of all people packs up and takes the first boat to this craggy island to help a new trainee, it got everybody worked up into a frenzy of who exactly this cadet was.’

‘I am indebted to Sir Regal,’ was all Finn replied, feeling supremely embarrassed that he was the subject of gossip overseas.

‘And the tales of you only grew grander with talk of your heroics in the north. Saving one officer from a burning building before rescuing another from rebels, and not just any officer, but the favourite son of the King. I have to admit, even I was feeling a little giddy at the prospect of meeting you.’

‘I am sorry to disappoint,’ Finn said, his eyes flitting between dark alleyways for any signs of danger. ‘I am nothing special.’

‘Ah, humble as well as brave,’ Styles gleefully noted. ‘Excellent traits for a follower of the Cross.’

Finn turned away, feigning a search of a nearby street when in actuality he was hiding the tension on his face, biting his tongue so hard that he tasted blood in his mouth.

‘You never did answer my question though,’ Styles pressed.

‘I grew up on a farm over the Wicklow mountains,’ he answered, trying to keep his answer vague. He didn’t want to give the gossipers any more arrows to fire at him. ‘I looked after sheep and cleaned out the stables. In summer, I helped drive the herd to market, in winter, we often went hungry. That’s about as exciting as my life got.’

‘Hmm,’ Styles remarked, ‘you’re right. Very dull indeed. What a pity.’ He was smiling though and Finn knew he was only humouring him. ‘Ah look, a market!’ he exclaimed suddenly, ‘let’s go have a look-see.’

Finn was about to protest but Styles was already at the edge of the stalls, admiring the first table laden with the baker’s wares. He inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of freshly baked bread and let out an appreciative groan.

‘Doesn’t that get the mouth salivatin’? he grinned over at Finn, who merely nodded in reply, his eyes darting to every face in the marketplace. ‘What craftsmanship you have, my brother. I will take six of the loaves, four of the cobs and... Aide Balor, would you like anything?’

‘I’ve eaten but thank you,’ Finn returned, astounded at the size of Styles’ order.

‘Throw in half a dozen of those sweetbreads too,’ Styles gave the baker a flash of his infectious smile, as he pulled a sack from out of the ties around his waist and packed it with his purchases. ‘Now, what am I due you, my brother?’ On hearing the amount, Styles pulled his purse from out of his robes and proceeded to shower several gold coins onto the table. The baker stared at the gold coins in amazement but kept his anticipation in check. Surely, this New-Worlder was simply displaying his wealth with no intention of sharing it. Finn was thinking the same too.

However, the pair were astounded to see Styles pass all five coins into the baker’s hand!

‘M’lord, you can’t...I mean, this is-‘ the baker stammered, trying to hand the coins back.

‘The Lord of the Cross thanks you for your service,’ Styles smiled back. ‘Go with the Lord, brother.’ He gave the baker the sign of the Cross and the baker gave a fumbled sign back. Finn furrowed his brows; he had never once seen the baker in the castle’s chapel during the Sunday service.

Parting under a torrent of ‘thank you’s and ‘Amen’s, Styles moved onto the next stall. Finn jogged up to catch up with him. ‘Is it wise to be flaunting around that much gold here?’ he whispered to his charge.

‘You seem very wary, Aide Balor?’ Styles noted, side-eyeing the younger man. ‘Aren’t these your people?’

‘They are but that doesn’t mean there aren’t thieves and bandits around, people who mean to do us harm.’

‘Hmmm,’ Styles smirked. ‘It would seem your adventures up north have made you paranoid.’

Finn bit down on his tongue again, not because he was insulted by Styles’ words... but because he saw some truth to them. He felt that old familiar wave of guilt well up inside him. How could he feel this way about his own people?

Styles visited every stall in the market, each time spending a generous amount of coin until he was loaded up with fresh produce in his sack.Whenever he paid his bill, the stall owner stared blankly at the cleric before thanking him profusely. Styles, however, would wave away any gratitude.

‘Just keep doing the Lord’s fine work, brother,’ he would say or ‘God bless you, sister,’ before finishing off with a sign of the Cross. As he moved along the row of stalls, the vendors began to return the gesture of the Cross, the bows grew deeper and the ‘Amen, brother’ louder and clearer. Finn eyed each of the townspeople, wondering when exactly they had become such devoted followers of the foreign faith.

‘That was fun,’ Styles was beaming from ear to ear as he swung his sack, full to bursting over his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Aide Balor, I need no help carrying my wares. You keep those hands free in case any thieves or bandits show themselves.’

Finn was not the kind to be easily angered but this man and his taunting was irking him easier than McIntyre’s ever did. Worse, Styles knew this and pretended not to notice as he marched his way further along the streets.

‘I was told there was a cathedral being built,’ he said, changing the subject all of a sudden. ‘Care to show me.’

The site of the cathedral wasn’t far from the castle. According to Brother Michaels, it was to be a majestic tribute to the Lord of the Cross, with a soaring spire reaching up to the heavens, an intricately carved altar and vast crypts below. It was expected to house the entire district’s population once it was completed.

Currently, however, it was a large trench and a number of small, uninspiring walls with a tiny number of stonemasons and carpenters milling around the scene like dying wasps. Styles looked on with immense disappointment at the project. ‘How long have they been building?’ he asked Finn.

‘Before I came to join the Cross,’ Finn told him, ‘maybe even before I arrived in Dubhlinn.’

Styles shook his head with dismay. ‘Well, better add that to my list too,’ he said with a dismissive sigh and started looking further afield.

‘Where do you wish to go now, Brother Styles?’ Finn asked, sensing that his charge was deciding on his next destination.

‘Hmmm, this way looks good,’ the cleric said and began to head off across the street towards an alleyway. Immediately, Finn ran up and put an arm out to block his progress.

‘I wouldn’t recommend that way,’ he warned Styles, ‘it leads to the more unsavoury part of town. Most there will take one look at that cross around your neck and ambush us.’

‘I see,’ Styles pursed his lips for a moment. ‘Duly noted!’ he sang, his whole face lighting up again as he bypassed Finn’s arm and sauntered right into the dark alley, his sack waving from side-to-side on his back.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ Finn muttered under his breath, certain to make sure that Styles didn’t hear before following the foolhardy cleric, the grip on his spear tightening.

Finn had never ventured to the poorer quarters of Dubhlinn before. His year spent in captivity saw him trapped within Corbin’s bedchambers, only briefly allowed to exercise in his courtyard. As a soldier, he spent the majority of his time at the castle and it’s immediate vicinity. Whenever he went running with Seth or Ricochet, they took the main street out of town, heading in the opposite direction of the impoverished parts. He had heard stories, however, of it’s filthy streets and ramshackle houses. Of it’s desperate inhabitants; entire families crammed into a single, rat-infested room, many turning to crime so that they or their loved ones didn’t starve. Of children milling around nobleman’s houses to pick at purses with hands as light as air, of women selling everything they possessed and when they had nothing left, they sold their own bodies. Of men who knew no remorse, who charged upon unsuspecting victims and left them disfigured in bloody pools, their carcasses picked clean of anything of value.

As Finn followed Styles through the narrow alleyway into the slums of Dubhlinn, he found the rumours, in part, to be true, yet nothing prepared him for how depressing the area was.

It was quiet, uncomfortably quiet, even though the streets were strewn with people. The children shivered in tattered blankets next to their mothers who held their hands out, begging for any crust or crumb from passers-by. Their pleas were interrupted by chesty coughs, sniffles and sobs, tears leaving clean trails down their dirt-smeared faces. The houses they sat outside were barely fit for habitation, nothing but shacks with broken shutters and holes in the roof, damp no doubt infesting every part of the walls, making the children cough harder each day. The sheep back on the farm lived better than this, Finn thought to himself, shaking his head with sorrow.

The two men’s appearance caused a noticeable change in the atmosphere. All of the slum dwellers recognised the crimson tunic and steel plates that Finn sported, knew the emblem of a tilted cross on his chest, saw his sharpened weapons and cowered with fear. Styles placed a firm hand on Finn’s arm, telling him to hold back as he edged forward towards the inhabitants of the slums. Although he wore the same emblem around his neck, the woman and children were less familiar with the cleric’s simple brown robes and seeing the frayed edges and worn elbows, they believed him to be closer to their own kind than one of the invading army’s men. Finn spotted a young boy, only around six years old, looking at him warily. He turned and smiled at the lad but the child sharply turned his head away as if he had been caught in the act of a terrible crime.

Styles was talking to one of the women on the street. Kneeling down so he was level with her, he held her filthy hand in his and listened as she spoke of her hardships. Gone was the smug grin and the pompous attitude, his voice turned to no more than a whisper, his face twisted with genuine concern as he absorbed everything this woman he’d never met before told her tale.

Finn, captured by this change in his charge, leaned against the nearest wall and looked on, seeing no immediate signs of danger. He watched as the woman finished her story and Styles placed his other hand over hers and kissed her fingers. Making a sign of the Cross, he blessed the woman before reaching for his sack. The woman’s eyes grew in size as he pulled out a loaf of bread, a bag of oats and some sweetmeats and gave them to her. The tears began to pour down her face as she thanked the cleric over and over, throwing her arms around his neck. Finn resumed his feet, expecting some kind of trick but nothing more than extreme gratitude transpired. The woman showed her children their wares and they beamed with excitement at the prospect of full bellies.

Seeing the cleric’s gifts, more of the woman began to gather around him. Finn took a step forward to disperse the crowd but Styles gently ordered him back and allowed the woman to come to him. He greeted each one like an old friend, heard of their plights and gave each a portion of the wares from his sack until there was nothing left and everybody had been satisfied.

Finn was amazed by the scene he’d just witnessed and that guilt he felt earlier began to overwhelm him. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he’d misjudged the cleric so poorly or that he himself, despite being of the same blood as the woman and children before him, had never offered any such charity since joining his place of privilege with the Red Army.

Now, he only brought fear to his own kind.

The crowds began to disperse and as the streets emptied, Finn was alerted to the fact that Styles was nowhere to be seen. He leapt up from his spot by the wall and ran to where he’d seen the cleric last, calling out his name. Feeling a stab of fear pierce his chest, he gripped his spear tightly and went in search of the man he’d sworn his lover to protect.

Styles followed the boy down the alleyway, noting how dark and tighter the small close was getting. ‘You said your mother is back here?’ Styles confirmed with the youth.

‘Yes, m’lord, just down here,’ the heavily accented voice returned to him through the gloom.

Styles saw the ambush coming a mile away.

Once he was caught in the middle of the narrow alley, two men jumped down from above behind him, blocking his escape. The boy disappeared down the other end of the close, two more men taking his place as they emerged from the shadows.

‘We’ve been watching you, X-wielder,’ one of the men, clearly the leader said. ‘You must carry a lot of gold on you to afford the food you just gave away. Hand it over!’

‘Happy to,’ Style shrugged, not showing an ounce of fear as he produced his purse from his robes and threw the small sack with the remainder of his gold at the feet of the lead ambusher. ‘Coin is of no matter to me. I use it to do the Lord’s bidding. It is as much yours as it is mine, brother.’

‘In that case, brother,’ the man replied, mockingly. ‘We’ll take that pretty trinket from around your neck too.’

‘Ah, see,’ Styles lamented, placing a hand over the embellished gold cross at his chest. ‘That, I’m afraid I can not part with. It is my connection to the Holy Father.’

‘It was not a request,’ the thug snarled and Styles noted his would-be attackers closing in around him.

‘Brother Styles!’

The smile curled at the edge of Styles’ face; Finn had noticed his absence promptly and found him quicker than he expected. However, he raised his palm towards the Hibernian, ordering him to stay back.

‘Your spear and sword are no use in this tight corridor, Aide Balor,’ he informed Finn, in a voice that was both commanding and collected. ‘If you must arm yourself, bring out your dagger. However, I would prefer no weapons are drawn today.’

‘Fecking eedjit!’ one of the ambushers cursed and made a dash for Styles, a blade in his hand. Styles saw it flash in the dull light.

He remained calm as he took a step back, the man stabbing at thin air. He could see the outstretched arm hovering right before his face, the rusty knife clenched in a filthy fist, moving too slowly to pull back in time. Styles caught it, his right hand grabbing hold of the man’s wrist while the palm of his left hand smashed into the assailant’s forearm.

The crack of the blow filled the air, the man’s arm bending the wrong way as bone and sinew burst from broken flesh. The attacker’s sickening screams soon followed the sound of his broken arm.

For a moment, the shocking sight froze everyone in the tight corridor to the spot. Then chaos ensued.

One of the ambushing party ran off, his face turning green as his hand held back a wave of vomit. The other two rushed Styles who dropped his victim to the ground to welcome the attack. The first came to his rear, he threw back his elbow and caught him in the mid drift, the man bending over as he nearly coughed up his lungs. Styles flew to the man’s back, kicking him in the back of the knee to drop him, bent over like a child waiting for his friend to leapfrog over him.

Which is exactly what Styles did. Propelling himself up onto the fallen man, he hurtled towards the final thug, his arm pulled back and landed a devastating blow with his forearm that snapped the cartilage of the man’s nose and just about dislocated his jaw. The thug fell, head thick and heavy, unable to stand.

The fight (if it could be called that) lasted mere seconds before Styles stood tall as the victor. Dusting himself down and rearranging his robes, he turned to the ambusher who he’d leapt over.

‘I think your friend needs your help,’ he hinted, the thug getting the message and grabbing his dazed associate before taking off clumsily down the corridor and away, leaving only Finn and the man with the broken arm. Styles, having righted himself again, got down on his haunches to inspect the damage.

‘That’s a nasty one,’ he tutted, letting a whistle out between his lips while his victim shook like a leaf in a gale. ‘Go to the chapel at the castle - one of our healer’s will set your arm and bind it for you. Don’t you go tryin’ to do it yourself now. God go with you, my brother.’

Patting the fallen man on the back, he made his way out of the alleyway, passing by a stunned Finn. ‘Looks like you were right about the thieves and bandits, Aide Balor. My deepest apologies.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you all think of Brother Styles?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men of the Cross have their history revealed

The majority of the walk back to the castle was spent in silence; Styles sauntering along, admiring the sights of thetown while Finn replayed the event he’d just witnessed over and over again. It was not the gruesome violence that had shocked him... it was the speed. The ‘fight’ had been over in seconds, even though Styles had been heavily outnumbered.

A million questions was running through his head but, in the end, all he said was ‘you didn’t need an escort today.’

Styles looked over, surprised at the sudden end to his partner’s silence. He answered the statement with a smug smile. ‘No, I suppose I didn’t.’

‘So why did you ask for one?’

‘You already know why.’

Finn stopped and turned to face Style with his eyes narrowed. ‘You knew Seth would send me. You wanted me. Why?’

‘Rumours are fun,’ Styles smiled back at Finn, ‘but they never tell the real story. The truth. And more often than not, the truth turns out to be nowhere near as interesting as the rumour suggests. I wanted to find out the truth for myself.’

‘I’m sorry I don’t match the lofty heights of my reputation,’ Finn replied.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t apologise just yet, Aide Balor,’ Styles said as he resumed walking, the gates of the castle looming into sight. ‘After all, it’s only day one.’

Finn couldn’t begin to think what Styles had thought of him after only one encounter yet the cleric had made a profound impression on Finn. Returning into the castle courtyard, Styles took his leave, saying he was ready to rest after his long journey and thanking Finn for his services. The moment he was out of sight through the chapel door, Finn headed straight for Seth’s room.

He found his secret lover, staring up at the ceiling with his hands by his side, looking like a sulking child. Seeing Finn enter the room, he sat upright with excitement.

Finn didn’t wait for any pleasantries, ignoring the inquisitive look in his lover’s eyes as he bolted the door shut and made a beeline for Seth’s bunk, shedding off his armour and tunic, throwing them to the floor with a loud clank. Seth could only gasp in surprise as Finn entered his covers from the bottom of the bunk and grabbed both of his thighs in his strong hands, pulling them towards him with such force that Seth’s injured knee gave a twinge in protest. Seth didn’t have time to register the pain however as he felt Finn yank down his undergarments and swallow his manhood whole.

Seth had to clamp his hands down tight over his mouth to muffle the cry of ecstasy as his lover sucked him for all he was worth.

This was so unlike Finn!

For one, he had forgone his usual pleasantries of asking for permission. For another, Finn was never, ever, this rough. He was practically gobbling Seth down, gulping with such reckless abandon that oftentimes his teeth nipped the abused skin of Seth’s manhood. His fingernails were digging into the flesh of Seth’s thighs, ripping at the skin, no doubt leaving gashes and bruises in their wake.

And Seth was loving it! He had to close his eyes and tighten his grip on his mouth to stop his howls of joy escaping. Finn was taking him so deep that he feared the Hibernian may choke but there was something else, a new sensation dancing up and down his shaft. Intense vibrations that plunged him deeper into his orgasm.

Finn was... growling.

Seth groaned at the discovery, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. He had never seen his lover this way before; so dominant, so spontaneous, so... animalistic. It was as if he had been possessed by some monster, some demon. And Seth was helpless to fight back as it engorged him.

His hands around his mouth held back most of his climax as he exploded down Finn’s throat, his lover guzzling down every drop of his load. Seth’s hands fell from his face, his arms flopping like old pieces of rope, his forehead beaded with sweat and his eyes screwed shut. He panted breathlessly, lying helpless and vulnerable as he felt his feral lover move below him.

But the demon was gone and his sweet, gentle Finn had returned. He felt the Hibernian softly clean him off and replace his undergarments before shuffling backwards, out from underneath the covers. He felt Finn’s gaze down upon him, seeing the way his whole body trembled like a leaf in a gale.

‘Seth, I’m so... did I hurt you?’

Seth couldn’t speak, still lost in the throes of passion.

‘Seth?’

‘That... was... incredible,’ Seth managed to croak out.’

‘I didn’t ask,’ Finn uttered, hanging his head low. ‘I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.’

‘I keep telling you,’ Seth hissed, tingles running all over his body like a hoard of spiders, ‘I like surprises.’ His lips split into a goofy smile which he hoped helped to reassure his concerned lover but when Finn did not come to snuggle in beside him, he forced one eye open. He found the Hibernian sitting in a chair next to the bed, a far away look in his eye.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Finn,’ he said smoothly, reaching out a wobbly hand which Finn wrapped in his fingers. Those rough callous fingers. Months of hard military training had further hardened those old farm hands that Seth loved so much.

‘Did something happen today?’ Seth asked, trying to rouse Finn from his stupor. ‘I was worried when you took so long to return.’

‘Did I?’ Finn replied. ‘I came straight here. I wasn’t aware of the time.’ Now that he saw the shadows settling in Seth’s room, he suddenly realised how long he and Styles had been away.

‘Was it Styles?’ Seth asked suddenly and Finn was caught off-guard as if the New Worlder could somehow read his mind. He could, however, read his reaction and let out a snort of laughter.

‘He’s a hard one to pin down isn’t he?’

Finn didn’t answer straight away. Not because he didn’t want to offend Seth who clearly thought highly of the cleric but because he truly didn’t know himself what he thought of the man. There were so many different ideas and opinions of him rolling around his brain, each vying for dominance, that he couldn’t make out a clear picture of the man yet. And he was usually such a good judge of character.

Until he had made up his mind, he didn’t feel comfortable revealing how he felt, in case it wasn’t how he should feel. To find out exactly what the latter was, Finn turned to Seth, keen to see if one of his theories proved true. ‘Styles was another from the camp where you grew up, wasn’t he?’

At first Seth looked taken back then smiled proudly. He should have known Finn would have worked that out. ‘Yes, he’s the eldest of Hunter’s boys. He came to the camp when he was one and ten years old. He was a bastard, just like he said earlier. A product of a pretty servant girl and a powerful Southern lord. However, unlike most bastards who are usually ostracised, the nobleman took pity on the boy. He put both the child and his mother in one of the cottages on his estate and provided them with a monthly wage and two elderly servants to care for them. He even went as far as to allow the boy to bear his name.’

‘How kind of him,’ Finn noted.

‘Kind, yes,’ Seth went on, ‘but he had his reasons. His wife had provided him with five daughters. Without a male heir to inherit his title and estate, it would go to his brother who he detested. With his father’s name, Styles could boast a stronger claim and keep the inheritance from falling into the brother’s hands. And for a time, this was accepted by all, even the wife. Until the day she gave birth to a son.

‘She soon became afraid for her son. Afraid that Styles, even with his half-blood would try to steal what was rightfully her offspring’s claim, she grew angry at the boy and his mother living within walking distance of her family. The servants began to whisper to her too, filling her head with fear, telling her that Styles, ten years her son’s senior, may even come to murder the boy one day. And she became deathly afraid.

‘So she plotted and one fateful night sent two of her man servants down to the cottage with the order of setting it alight. The fire began on the thatched roof and spread to the whole house within minutes. Styles’ mother perished in the flames but miraculously Styles survived, guided to safety by his elderly maid.

‘The Southern lord heard of the blaze and rushed to the scene in time, finding his bastard son, skin still blackened with ash, and wept with joy that the boy was still alive. But he feared for him; he had survived one attempt on his life, he may not outlive the next.

‘As it transpired, he had a number of soldiers from the Red Army staying at his estate and they too had seen the blaze and rode over to help. On hearing of his plight, one soldier stepped forward and volunteered to keep the boy safe.’

‘Hunter.’ Finn didn’t ask; he stated and Seth nodded in reply.

‘And so, Styles came to stay in the camp. There was only a handful of us at the time yet Styles did not mix well with the others. Trust comes as easily to Styles as the tide comes to middle of the desert.’ Finn didn’t know what a desert was but he could understand the meaning of Seth’s metaphor. ‘Yet, he took a liking to me; a scrawny orphan, swelling with pride at being able to finally totter about on my skinny legs. Maybe Styles took pity on me, maybe I was the least threatening one there to him. Whatever his reason, he took me under his wing.’

‘Hence the baby brother moniker,’ Finn noted, nodding his head as he consumed all this brand new information from Seth. ‘He must have been distraught when he came to your camp, losing his mother like that.’

Seth smiled warmly at his lover. Finn’s incredible affection for his late mother was a quality he admired deeply in the Hibernian but also envied. ‘I can’t say,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders with a sigh. ‘I was too young to understand such matters and by the time I could understand, he was exactly as he is today. Closed off. Hard to read.’

‘You said he took you under his wing?’ Finn prompted Seth back to his tale, eager to hear more of the newcomer.

‘He did,’ Seth confirmed, settling back against the pillows with a nostalgic smile on his face. ‘Everybody called me a protege in my youth but I would never have been half the fighter I am now if it wasn’t for Styles. Being of age, he began training in combat as soon as he arrived at Hunter’s camp and was a natural born warrior. After his lessons, he would find me and show me what he had been taught. Being my adopted big brother, I wanted to impress him... so I practised what he showed me, every minute of every day.

‘Hunter took the boy on as his squire as the age of five and ten. I still remember the pride on his face when he told me. He spoke of going out across the land, journeying to all corners of the globe and glorious victories in battle. I sat and nearly wept, wishing that I could go too. He saw the tears in my eyes and patted me on the head. “I will miss you too, baby brother,” he’d said, “now wipe away those tears before anyone sees.” So I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and the following morn, he was gone.

‘He returned once or twice but we never really saw each other again until we, I mean, until I travelled to Londinium and tried out for the King’s Shield. He’d newly entered the church then and I witnessed first hand his swift ascent through the ranks to where he is today.’ Seth paused for a while, a sad smile at his lips.

Finn eyed his lover. He had told him so much about this stranger, newly arrived in his homeland, but he had conveniently left out most of the part he craved to hear; their history together in Londinium. Finn knew if Seth didn’t wish to share then he would not. But there was something else that Finn needed to know.‘Do you consider him a friend?’

Seth looked up, no doubt spying the expression on Finn’s face, as hard as granite, his topaz eyes boring into him as if he could extract the information from his soul with a single glance. Seth replied with a serious look of his own, his tone of voice a warning to his lover.

‘Styles doesn’t make friends. He makes allies.’

The next morning as Finn headed down the stairs of the officer’s tower, he met Ricochet coming the opposite direction, looking for him.

‘Your commanding officer is letting you leave his side today?’ he asked with a cheeky grin.

‘Only after I reminded him I have duties to attend to outside of caring for him,’ Finn joked back.

‘You have one demanding patient.’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Seth had gotten all riled up after Finn’s ‘surprise’ that he’d barely let the Hibernian sleep the past night. Finn was glad his tunic hid the multitude of scratch marks down his back and hoped nobody noticed his slight limp.

‘Your men will be pleased,’ Ricochet noted as they headed out into the sparkling, white courtyard, the frost crunching beneath their boots‘I don’t think they were over fond of my drills. Pretty sure I heard Owens mutter something about me taking over Wyatt’s position.’

Finn laughed. ‘Must admit, I think I’d rather face Wyatt for a few hours than muster through a few minutes of your drills.’

The paused in their stride as they noticed a large crowd of soldiers gathered at the far end of the courtyard. Exchanging a quick glance at one another they went over to see what was going on. Drawing closer, they began to hear the sound of men fighting, and when several of the soldiers spotted their superiors and moved aside, they got a better view.

Finn gulped on recognising Brother Styles with his fellow clerics, the Goodbrothers. Few would have guessed their holy occupation, as all three were stripped to the waist, their bare chests exposed in spite of the biting frost that morning and they were engaged in a brutal brawl. Every man was bloodied in some way - Gallows from his mouth, Anderson from his nose and Styles from a gash above his eye - yet they barely noticed as they threw themselves at each other, raining down punches and kicks with brutal intent. The blows were accurate, the target unable to retreat or evade, instead they had to block. Sometimes they stopped the assault in its track, sometimes they didn’t and their grunts of pain filled the air.

At first glance, Finn believed there had been a falling out between the visiting clerics but looking deeper into the combat told him otherwise.

This was a training session.

He wondered at the aggression and brutality of the sparring match, cringing every time a blow found its target, hearing the smack of skin that would lead to nasty bruises later that day. Noting the old scars and faded welts on each of the men’s exposed bodies, the figured this was far from the first time they had fought each other in this manner.

His eyes drifted to Styles, by far the quickest and most relentless of the trio. Despite his short stature, he was clearly winning the bout, slinking around the battlefield like a graceful wildcat, leaping up as if his bones were hollow. Almost all of his strikes hit while few found their way through his defences. Seeing his fighting style brought back memories of the day before and Finn suppressed a shiver, knowing that the man, in spite of the bloodied faces of his competitors, was actually holding back.

Finn couldn’t stop himself from eyeing up Brother Styles, noting the athletic physique he sported. His chest was squat and broad and divided by ridges down his stomach. While not as chiselled as Finn’s abdominals, they were impressive none-the-less. But what truly grabbed the eye was the large black letters of his initials that he’d had burnt into his skin down one side of his rib cage along with a series of dates. Finn wondered what the significance of those dates were when he suddenly felt his body quake from head to toe. Instinctively his gaze sprung up and his heart froze on finding Style’s bright blue eyes staring right back at him. Despite the embarrassment he felt at being caught sizing up the other man, Finn hardened his expression and glared right back. Styles merely grinned, shrugged nonchalantly and returned his attention to the sparring session.

Fortunately for Finn, he did not have to explain his gazes to Brother Styles as he swiftly hid himself amongst the crowds being dispersed by Ricochet once the clerics had finished their training session. The memory of Styles’ speed, agility and brutality lingered on Finn’s mind, however, both from that morning and from the day before and he replayed his history as told by Seth over and over again.

His thoughts faded back to his own actions from the previous evening, when he had pounced on Seth and practically swallowed him whole. Seth had asked what had brought on such uncharacteristic behaviour, wondering if something had happened that day but Finn, like he had a tendency to do, danced around the question to lead the conversation elsewhere. Because he knew exactly why he’d acted that way and he was bitterly disappointed in himself.

He had never considered himself the jealous type.

The morning drills over (Finn’s men were thrilled to see their superior returned) and while the infantrymen cleaned themselves up for the mid-day meal, Finn and Ricochet made their way to the mess hall. Plates filled and cups full, they took their usual spot by the fireplace and were tucking into their food when two unfamiliar faces came to sit opposite them.

‘So you’re the guy are you?’ the shorter of the two men asked. Finn raised his eyebrows at the man he knew to be Brother Anderson, silently asking if the cleric was addressing him. ‘The guy they’re all talking about back in Londinium?’

‘So I’ve been told,’ he replied, growing weary of these supposed rumours.

‘You’re shorter than I’d thought you’d be,’ Brother Gallows blurted out as he chewed on a sweaty leg of lamb.

‘Pfft, everybody’s seems shorter to you,’ Anderson shot back. ‘Apologies,’ he was addressing Finn now, ‘my friend here would usually be hanging around under some bridge scaring the local wildlife.’

The shorter bald man found his insult hugely entertaining and gave a loud guffaw while his larger friend feigned offence and playfully whacked him around the back of the head. Finn watched on, not sure what to think. This was not how he expected clerics of the Cross to act.

‘Can we be of assistance to you today, gentlemen?’ Finn had never been so relieved to have Ricochet by his side, who politely but firmly lead the conversation to the point.

‘Well, seeing as you’re asking,’ Gallows leant forward onto his elbows, waving the leg of lamb in the air like a club. ‘Saw you two watching our sparring session earlier. Care to tell us what you think? Anderson needs to work on his defence, right? A herd of cows could get past his blocks.’

‘Pfft,’ Anderson scoffed indignantly. ‘You can talk. You see the speed on this guy? Lumbering is being polite.’

‘From what I could see, the only comment I can make is to the recklessness of your style of training.’ Finn felt his stomach wrench at the brashness of his friend’s words. He froze, waiting for the inevitable confrontation, be it verbal or even physical, half-expecting the giant Gallows to reach right across the table and wrap his mammoth hands around Ricochet’s neck.

Instead, the two men burst into fits of raucous laughter.

‘Yeah, well that’s the whole point,’ Gallows jeered between mocking cackles, while droplets of lamb rained from his open mouth. ‘It needs to hurt in order for it to count.’

‘Count?’ Finn was finally intrigued enough to join in the conversation. ‘To make what count?’

The laughter died down. Anderson fixed Finn with a raised eyebrow, leaning slightly towards him.

‘Penance,’ he said. Finn’s expression must have revealed his continued confusion as the cleric elaborated. ‘I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that neither myself or Gallows are your... typical holy men.’ As if to punctuate his statement, Gallows gave a loud slurp on his lamb, causing both Finn and Ricochet to wince. ‘Let’s just say the Cross was not our first calling.’

‘We were crooks,’ Gallows went straight to the point. ‘Robbery mainly, dabbled in a spot of maiming, think we killed a guy or two.’ The two soldiers were stunned to silence. ‘Styles saved us from the hangman’s noose.’

‘As in literally,’ Anderson piped up. ‘Both of us had the ropes tied around our neck, the executioner about to kick our stools our from underneath us, I mean, we were seconds away from death when the cleric presiding over the whole thing stepped forward and offered us an alternative.’

‘To join the Cross, become followers of the one true God,’ Gallows said as he tossed his finished lamp bone over his shoulder, sucking the juices from each of his fingers. ‘I told him to go to hell and I’d see him there shortly.’

‘As you can see, he soon changed his mind,’ Anderson grinned as if the two soldiers shared his joke. ‘However donning the robes is not enough to scrub away all of our sin. We needed something more. You probably saw earlier how Brother Styles is very good at beating our wickedness away.’

‘It’s very cathartic,’ Gallows noted, tilting his head to the side as he eyed up the two men of the Red Army. ‘You should try it some time. The pair of you verses me and Anderson.’

‘Tempting offer but alas our duties as aides must come first. But hey, if we manage to wrangle some free time, we know where to find you.’

The Goodbrothers appeared disappointed, almost insulted, at Ricochet’s response but held their tongues. It was clear their fellow New Worlder was not to be swayed.

‘Ah, there you both are,’ a voice cut through the tension; a voice that Finn had grown to dread. Brother Styles walked over and placed a hand on each of his companion’s shoulders. ‘I see you started without me. Oh, Aide Balor, good to see you again.’

‘Likewise,’ Finn replied meekly. Fortunately for him, Styles was more interested in the man at Finn’s side.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ Styles said, extending a hand out to Ricochet.

‘Aide Mann,’ the former mercenary replied.

‘Ah, the fabled Ricochet, so I hear,’ Styles grinned slyly. If Ricochet was surprised that Styles knew of him and his moniker among the ranks, he made a good show of hiding it.

‘My reputation precedes me, I see.’

‘Talent always stirs idle chatter,’ Styles shrugged. ‘Well that, and the rumour that you used to be an assassin, sent to kill Lord Regal before he persuaded you to turn coat and join our side.’

‘Really?’ Ricochet smiled easily. ‘What will they think of next, huh?’

Styles, seeing he was not getting the rise out of the New Worlder that he’d hoped for, simply nodded back. ‘A pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I’m-‘

‘Brother Styles,’ Ricochet interrupted. ‘Your reputation precedes you too.’

‘So it seems,’ the grin on Styles’ face looked more forced now. ‘Did the Goodbrothers talk to you about joining our sparring sessions?’

‘The bees are too busy,’ Anderson joked, but his smile was hard.

‘Ah, a pity. The invite is always open though. I heard you earned your nickname because of your unmatched speed, Aide Mann.’ Ricochet rolled his shoulders noncommittally. ‘And you Aide Balor, I heard you are an excellent wrestler.’

There was something in the look that Styles gave him that reminded Finn of Corbin. Instinctively he pulled his tunic down over his exposed thighs, trying to hide any signs of discomfort in his face.

‘Anyway, come brothers, let’s leave the good gentlemen to their meals.’ It wasn’t until all three clerics had stood up and left the table that Finn felt a small wave of relief come over him. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something about the three men made him squirm. And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

‘How do you know Styles?’ Ricochet asked, his voice hushed.

‘I don’t,’ Finn explained. ‘But Seth does. He tasked me with escorting him around the town yesterday. How do you know of them?’

‘You don’t spend a decent amount of time in Londinium without hearing about Brother Styles and his goons,’ Ricochet replied cryptically. He turned and fixed Finn with a pointed gaze. ‘He’s dangerous, Finn. Stay away from him.’

‘I intend to,’ Finn assured his friends but something about the man had placed the Hibernian under his spell. Even when the rest of his friends arrived, he found his eye wandering across to the head table and no matter how discreet he tried to be, Styles always sensed him and smiled smugly back. In the end, Finn put all of his energy into focusing on the empty bowl in front of him, wondering if this was how the rabbit felt when it’s paw became snared in the trap, waiting until the hunter arrived.

Fortunately for Finn, he passed the rest of the day without seeing either Styles or his cohorts again and was able to concentrate on his duties. He felt pleased with the day’s training and happily dismissed them for the evening, lagging behind in order to clear up any discarded weapons and return them to the armoury. As a result, he was the last one into the mess hall for the evening meal. Caoimhe accosted him with a plateful of food.

‘Have you spoken to him yet?’ she asked, a slight tremble in her voice.

Finn smiled warmly at her. ‘Not yet,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at his friends merrily teasing one another in the corner. ‘I’ll broach the subject with him now.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied with a deep sigh of gratitude. ‘You’re a good man, Finn.’

Finn managed another smile, although a small one this time. It was hard feeling like a good man when he wore the colours of the army that had invaded their country and stolen their freedom away from them. More and more, he felt uncomfortable within the crimson tunic and the accursed tilted cross upon his chestplate.

Thanking Caoimhe for the meal, he strode over to his friend’s table, in particular, right up behind Neville and giving him a strong clap on the back. ‘I believe congratulation are in order,’ he said, halting the conversation amongst the group as he took his usual seat. Neville stared back blankly at him.

‘Congratulations?’ he queried. ‘Why? Am I being promoted?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Finn shook his head gently. ‘I spoke to Caoimhe the other day-‘

‘You spoke to her!’ Neville’s face started to light up. ‘What did she say?’

Clearly, the Anglian was not putting the pieces together so Finn decided to help him. ‘Have you noticed any changes in her lately? Perhaps her appearance?’

‘No, she’s as beautiful as ever!’

‘Has she been feeling ok? Not unwell at all?’

‘She’s sick? That’s what’s wrong, right? She’s ailing and I’m not there at her beck and call. Well, I can change that - after drills I can-‘

‘Neville, does she... have a bit of a glow about her right now?’ Finn opened his palm towards the young maid as she cleared up the serving table.

‘A glow, what do you mean-‘ Neville almost choked on his pork as the penny dropped. He looked at Finn, wide-eyed and pale, shaking his head while the Hibernian just sat back and smiled knowingly at him. ‘No, no, she’s not-, I mean... that’s not what she’s been nagging me about. She keep going on about marriage and strengthening family names and-‘

He gulped loudly as his own words confirmed what Finn was hinting at.

‘I’m... going to be a father...’ he whimpered as the colour left his skin completely. In stark comparison, the table around him shuddered into life with every one of his friends getting up to pat him on the back and congratulate him, Neville taking each shot numbly like a training pole out on the field being battered by wooden swords. As Finn came over to properly wish him well, he grabbed hold of the Hibernian’s tunic sleeve and gripped it close. ‘What do I do?’

‘Go speak to her,’ he informed his friend kindly. ‘You might want to ready that knee of yours before you do.’

‘My knee?’ Neville furrowed his eyebrows before he turned even paler (which Finn didn’t think possible). ‘Oh Hell’s teeth, Finn. This is all-‘

‘Go, she’s waiting.’

Neville disappeared off towards the kitchen under the watchful eyes of his comrades. Each of them wished they could be a fly on the wall in that room as Neville finally spoke to Caoimhe about her condition and discussed their future plans. It was nearly two hours later and close to retiring time when the Anglian remerged through the doors, arms held aloft as he declared he was to be married. His friends cheered loud enough to deafen those still lingering in the mess hall.


End file.
